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BY THE AUTHOR OP « WAVERLY” AND « GUY MANNERING.”

IWisdom knew Anselmo. and cunning He had was their shrewd shares and of prudent; him; ButAnd he pleased was shrewish again by astoys a wayward which childhood child. please; As—bookOr else the of jingling fables gracedof a rusty with medal, print of wood. OrThat the first rare was melody sung toof someplease old King ditty. Pepin’s cradle.

IN TWO VOLUMES, VOL. I.

PHILADELPHIA: PUBLISHED BY JAMES CRISSY, NO. 177, CHESNUT STREET. O. GOODMAN, PRINTER. 1821. S-34'DESr»\ \ 1976 A'' ADVERTISEMENT.

The present work completes a series of fictitious narratives, intended to illustrate the manners of Scot- land at three different periods. Wa verly embraced the age of our fathers, Guy MANNERiNGthatof our own youth, and the Antiquary refers to the last ten years of the eighteenth century. I have, in the two last narratives especially, sought my principal per- sonages in the class of society who are the last to feel the influence of that general polish which assimilates to each other the manners of different nations. Among the same class I have placed some of the scenes, in which I have endeavoured to illustrate the operation of the higher and more violent passions; both because the lower orders are less restrained by the habit of suppressing their feelings, and because I agree with Mr. Wordsworth, that they seldom fail to express them in the strongest and most powerful language. This is, I think, peculiarly the case with the peasantry of my own country, a class with whom I have long been familiar. The antique force and simplicity of their language, often tinctured with the oriental eloquence of Scripture, in the mouths of those of an elevated understanding, give pathos to their grief, and dignity to their resentment. iv ADVERTISEMENT. I have been more solicitous to describe manners minutely, than to arrange, in any case, an artificial and combined narration; and have but to regret, that I felt myself unable to unite these two requisites of a good Novel. The knavery of the Adept, in the following sheets, may appear forced and improbable; but we have had very late instances of the force of superstitious cre- dulity to a much greater extent; and the reader may be assured, that this part of the narrative is founded on a fact of actual occurrence. I have now only to express my gratitude to the public, for the distinguished reception which they have given to works that have little more than some truth of colouring to recommend them, and to take my respectful leave, as one who is not likely again to solicit their favour. THE ANTIQUARY.

CHAPTER I. Go call a coach, and let a coach be call’d. And inlet histhe calling man who let himcalleth nothing be the call caller; But Coach! Coach! Coach! O for a coach,Chrononhotonthologas. ye gods!” It was early in a fine summer’s day, near the end of the eighteenth century, when a young man, of gen- teel appearance, having occasion to go towards the north-east of Scotland, provided himself with a ticket in one of those public carriages which travel between Edinburgh and the Queensferry; at which place, as the name implies, and as is well known to all my northern readers, there is a passage-boat for crossing the Frith of Forth. The coach was calculated to carry six regular passengers, besides such interlopers as the coachman could pick up by the way, and in- trude upon those who were legally in possession. The tickets, which conferred a right to a seat in this vehicle of little ease, were dispensed by a sharp- looking old dame, with a pair of spectacles on a very thin nose, who inhabited a “laighshop,” anglice, a cellar, opening to the High-street by a strait and steep stair, at the bottom of which she sold tape, thread, needles, skeins of worsted, coarse linen cloth, and such feminine gear, to those who had the courage and skill to descend to the profundity of her dwell- ing, without falling headlong themselves, or throw- 6 THE ANTIQUARY. ing down any of the numerous articles which, piled on each side of the descent, indicated the profession of the trader below. The written handbill, which, pasted on a project- ing board, announced that the Queensferry Diligence, or Hawes Fly, departed precisely at twelve o’clock on Tuesday, the fifteenth July, 17—, in order to se- cure for travellers the opportunity of passing the Frith with the flood tide, lied upon the present occa- sion like a bulletin; for although that hour was peeled from St. Giles’s steeple, and repeated by the Tron, no coach appeared upon the appointed stand. It is true, only two tickets had been taken out, and possibly the lady of the subterranean mansion might have an understanding with her Automedon, that, in such cases, a little space was to be allowed for the chance of filling up the vacant places—or the said Automedon might have been attending a funeral, and be delayed by the necessity of stripping his vehicle of its lugubrious trappings—or he might have staid to take a half-mutchkin extraordinary with his crony the ostler—or—in short, he did not make his appearance. The young gentleman, who began to grow some- what impatient, was now joined by a companion in this petty misery of human life—the person who had taken out the other place. He who is bent upon a journey is usually easily to be distinguished from his fellow citizens. The boots, the great coat, the um- brella, the little bundle in his hand, the hat pulled over his resolved brows, the determined importance of his pace, his brief answers to the salutations of lounging acquaintances, are marks by which the ex- perienced traveller in mail coach or diligence can distinguish, at a distance, the companion of his future journey, as he pushes onward to the place of ren*- dezvous. It is then that, with worldly wisdom, the first comer hastens to secure the best birth in the coach for himself, and to make the most convenient arrangement for his baggage before the arrival of his THE ANTIQUARY. 7 competitor. Our youth, who was gifted with little prudence of any sort, and who was, moreover, by the absence of the coach, deprived of the power of avail- ing himself of his priority of choice, amused himself, instead, by speculating upon the occupation and character of the personage who was now come to the coach office. He was a good-looking man of the age of sixty, perhaps older, but his hale complexion and firm step announced that years had not impaired his strength or health. His countenance was of the true Scottish cast, strongly marked, and rather harsh in features, with a shrewd and penetrating eye, and a countenance in which habitual gravity was enlivened by a cast of ironical humour. His dress was uniform, and of a colour becoming his age and gravity; a wig, well dressed and powdered, surmounted by a slouched hat, and something of a professional air. He might be a clergyman, yet his appearance was more that of a man of the world than usually belongs to the kirk of Scotland, and his first ejaculation put the matter beyond question. He arrived with a hurried pace, and, casting an alarmed glance towards the dial-plate of the church, then looking at the place where the coach should have been, exclaimed, “ De’ils in it—I am too late after all.” The young man relieved his anxiety by telling him the coach had not yet appeared. The old gentle- man, apparently conscious of his own want of punc- tuality, did not at first feel courageous enough to censure that of the coachman. He took a parcel, containing, apparently, a large folio, from a little boy who followed him, and, patting him on the head, bid him go back and tell Mr. B' , that if he had known he was to have had so much time, he would have put another word or two to their bargain—then told the boy to mind his business, and he would be as thriving a lad as ever dusted a duodecimo. The boy lingered, perhaps in hopes of a penny to buy THE -ANTiqiTARY. marbles, but none was forthcoming. Our senior leaned his little bundle upon one of the posts at the head of the staircase, and, facing the traveller who had first arrived, waited in silence for about five mi- nutes the arrival of the expected diligence. At length, after one or two impatient glances at the progress of the minute-hand of the clock, having compared it with his own watch, a huge and antique gold repeater, and having twitched about his features to give due emphasis to one or two peevish pshaws, he hailed the old lady of the cavern. “ Good woman—what the d—1 is her name? Mrs. Macleuchar?” Mrs. Macleuchar, aware that she had not a defen- sive part to sustain in the encounter which was to follow, was in no hurry to hasten the discussion by returning a ready answer. “ Mrs. Macleuchar—Good woman,” (with an elevated voice)—then apart, “ Old doited hag, she’s as deaf as a post—I say, Mrs. Macleuchar!” “ I am just serving a customer. Indeed, hinny, it will no be a bodle cheaper than I tell ye.” “ Woman,” reiterated the traveller, “ do you think we can stand here all day till you have cheated that poor servant wench out of her half-year’s fee and bountith?” “ Cheated!” retorted Mrs. Macleuchar, eager to take up the quarrel upon a defencible ground; “ I scorn your words, sir; you are an uncivil person, and I desire you will not stand there to slander me at my ain stairhead.” “ The woman,” said the senior, looking with an arch glance at his destined travelling companion, “ does not understand the words of action. Wo- man,” again turning to the vault, “ I arraign not thy character, but I desire to know what has become of thy coach.” “ What’s your will?” answered Mrs. Macleuchar, relapsing into deafness. “ We have taken places, ma’am,” said the younger THE ANTIQUARY. 9 stranger, “ in your diligence for Queensferry”— “ Which should have been half-way on the road be- fore now,” continued the elder, and more impatient traveller, rising in wrath as he spoke; “ and now in all likelihood we shall miss the tide, and I have busi- ness of importance on the other side—and your cursed coach” “ The coach?—glide guide us, gentlemen, is it no on the stand yet?” answered the old lady, her shrill tone of expostulation sinking into a kind of apolo- getic whine; “ Is it the coach ye can have been wait- ing for?” “ What else could have kept us broiling in the sun by the side of the gutter here, you—you faithless woman?” Mrs. Macleuchar now ascended her trap stair, (for such it might be called, though composed of stone,) until her nose came upon a level with the pavement; then, after wiping her spectacles to look for that which she well knew was not to be found, she exclaimed, with well-feigned astonishment, “ Gude guide us—saw ever ony body the like o’ that!” “ Yes, you abominable woman,” vociferated the traveller, “ many have seen the like of it, and all will see the like of it, that have any thing to do with your trolloping sex;” then, pacing in great indignation be- fore the door of the shop, still as he passed and re- passed, like a vessel who gives her broadside as she comes abreast of a hostile fortress, he shot down complaints, threats, and reproaches, on the embar- rassed Mrs. Macleuchar. He would take a post chaise—he would call a hackney coach—he would take four horses—he must—he would be on the north side to-day—and all the expense of his journey, beside damages, direct and consequential, arising from delay, should be accumulated on the devoted head of Mrs. Macleuchar. There was something so comic in his pettish re- sentment, that the younger traveller, who was in no such pressing hurry to depart, could not help being 10 THE ANTIQUARY. amused with it, especially as it was obvious, that every now and then the old gentleman, though very angry, could not help laughing at his own vehemence. But when Mrs. Macleuchar began also to join in the laughter, he quickly put a stop to her ill-timed merri- ment. “ Woman,” said he, “ is that advertisement thine?” showing a bit of crumbled printed paper: “ Does it not set forth, that, God willing, as you hypocriti- cally express it, the Hawes Fly, or Queensferry Diligence, would set forth to day at twelve o’clock; and is it not, thou falsest of creatures, now a quarter past twelve, and no such fly or diligence to be seen? —Doest thou know the consequence of seducing the lieges by false reports?—Doest thou know it might be brought under the statute of leasing making? Answer; and for once in thy long, useless, and evil life, let it be in the words of truth and sincerity— hast thou such a coach?—Is it in rerum natura?—or is this base annunciation a mere swindle on the in- cautious, to beguile them of their time, their patience, and three shillings of sterling money of this realm? —Hast thou, I say, such a coach? ay, or no?” “ O dear, yes, sir; the neighbours ken the diligence weel, green picked out wi’ red—three yellow wheels and a black ane.” “ Woman, thy special description will not serve— it may be only a lie with a circumstance.” “ O man, man!” said the overwhelmed Mrs. Mac- leuchar, totally exhausted by having been so long the but of his rhetoric, “ take back your three shillings, and mak me quit o’ ye.” “ Not so fast, not so fast, woman—will three shil- lings transport me to Queensferry agreeably to thy treacherous program? or will it requite the damage I may sustain by leaving my business undone, or re- pay the expenses which I must disburse if I am obliged to tarry a day at the South Ferry for lack of tide?—Will it hire, I say, a pinnace, for which alone the regular price is five shillings?” THE ANTIQUARY. 11 Here his argument was cut short by a lumbering noise, which proved to be the advance of the expect- ed vehicle, pressing forward with all the dispatch to which the broken-winded jades that drew it could possibly be urged. With ineffable pleasure, Mrs. Macleuchar saw her tormentor deposited in the leathern convenience; but still, as it was driving off, his head thrust out of the window reminded her, in words drowned amid the rumbling of the wheels, that if the diligence did not attain the ferry in time to save the flood tide, she, Mrs. Macleuchar, should be held responsible for all the consequences. The coach had continued in motion for a mile or two before the stranger had completely repossessed himself of his equanimity, as was manifested by the doleful ejaculations which he made from time to time on the too great probability, or even certainty, of their missing the flood tide. By degrees, how- ever, his wrath subsided; he wiped his brows, relaxed his frown, and, undoing the parcel in his hand, pro- duced his folio, on which he gazed from time to time with the knowing look of an amateur, admiring its • height and condition, and ascertaining, by a minute and individual inspection of each leaf, that the volume was uninjured and entire from title-page to colophon. His fellow traveller took the liberty of inquiring the subject of his studies. He lifted up his eyes with something of a sarcastic glance, as if he supposed the young querist would not relish, or perhaps under- stand, his answer, and pronounced the book to be Sandy Gordon’s Itinerarium Septentrionale, a book illustrative of the Roman remains in Scotland. The querist, unappalled by this learned title, proceeded to put several questions, which indicated, that he had made good use of a good education, and, although not possessed of minute information on the subject of antiquities, had yet acquaintance enough with the classics to render him an interested an intelligent au- ditor when they were enlarged upon. The elder traveller observing with pleasure the capacity of his 12 THE ANTiqiTARY. temporary companion to understand and answer him. plunged, nothing loath, into a sea of discussion con- cerning urns, vases, votive altars, Roman camps, and the rules of castrametation. The pleasure of this discourse had such a dulcify- ing tendency, that, although two causes of delay oc- curred, each of much more serious duration than that which had drawn down his wrath upon the un- lucky Mrs. Macleuchar, our ANTiqtiARY only be- stowed upon the delay the honour of a few episodical poohs and pshaws, which rather seemed to regard the interruption of his disquisition than the delay of his journey. The first of these stops was occasioned by the breaking of a spring, which half an hour’s labour hardly repaired. To the second, the Antiquary was himself accessary, if not the principal cause of it; for observing that one of the horses had cast a fore-foot shoe, he apprized the coachman of this important de- ficiency. “ It’s Jamie Martingale that furnishes the nags on contract, and uphauds them,” answered John, “ and I am not entitled to make any stop, or to suffer prejudice by the like of these accidents.” “ And when you go to—I mean where you de- serve, you scoundrel—who do you think will uphold you on contract? If you don’t stop directly, and carry the poor brute to the next smithy, I’ll have you pun- ished, if there’s a justice of peace in Mid-Lothian,” and opening the coach door, out he jumped, while the coachman obeyed his orders, muttering, that “ if the gentlemen lost the tide now, they could not say but it was their ain fault, since he was willing to get on.” I like so little to analyse the complication of the causes which influence actions, that I will not venture to ascertain whether our Antiquary’s humanity to the poor horse was not in some degree aided by his de- sire of showing his companion a Piet’s camp or Round-about, a subject which he had been elabo- rately discussing, and of which a specimen, “ v^ery THE ANTIQUARY. ts curious and perfect indeed,” happened to exist about a hundred yards distant from the place where this interruption took place. But were I compelled to decompose the motives of my worthy friend, (for such was the gentleman in the sober suit, with pow- dered wig and slouched hat,) I should say, that, al- though he certainly would not in any case have suf- fered the coachman to proceed while the horse was unfit for service, and likely to suffer by being urged forward, yet the man of whip-cord escaped some se- vere abuse and reproach by the agreeable mode which the traveller found out to pass the interval of delay. So much time was consumed by these interrupt tions of their journey, that when they descended the hill above the Hawes, (for so the inn on the southern side of the Queensferry is denominated,) the expe- rienced eye of the Antiquary at once discerned, from the extent of wet sand, and the number of black stones and rocks, covered with sea-weed, which were visible along the skirts of the shore, that the hour of tide was past. The young traveller expected a burst of indignation; but whether, as Croaker says in “ The Good-natured Man,” our hero had exhausted himself in fretting away his misfortunes beforehand, so that he did not feel them when they actually ar- rived, or whether he found the company in which he was placed too congenial to repine at anv thing which delayed his journey, it is certain that he submitted to his lot with much resignation. “ The d-—Ps in the diligence and the old hag it belongs to| Diligence, quoth I? Thou should’st have called it the Sloth—Fly! quoth she? why, it moves like a fly through a glue-pot, as the Irishman says. But, however, time and tide tarry for no man; and so, my young friend, we’ll have a snack here at the Hawes, which is a very decent sort of a place, and I’ll be very happy to finish the account I was giving you of the difference between the mode of en- trenching castra stativa and castra (estiva, thincs "VOL. I. 2 14 THE ANTIQUARY. confounded by too many of our historians. Lack-a- day, if they had ta’en the pains to satisfy their own eyes, instead of following each other’s blind guidance! Well! we shall be pretty comfortable at the Hawes, and besides, after all, we must have dined some- where, and it will be pleasanter sailing with the tide of ebb and the evening breeze.” In this Christian temper of making the best of all occurrences, our travellers alighted at the Hawes.

CHAPTER II. Sir, they do scandal me upon the road here; DryA poor to bequotidian grated! rackand thatof mutton, driven roasted down ItWith is against beer and my butter-milk,freehold, my mingled inheritance. together. AndJVine mine’sis the wordthe house that gladsof wine. the heartSack, of says man, my bush, Be merry and drink Sherry, that’s myBen posie. Johnson'e JYew Inn. As the senior traveller descended the crazy steps of the diligence at the inn, he was greeted by the fat, gouty, pursy landlord, with that mixture of famili- arity and respect which the Scotch innkeepers of the old school used to assume towards their more valued customers. “ Have a care o’ us, Monkbarns, (dis- tinguishing him by his territorial epithet, always most agreeable to the ear of a Scottish proprietor,) is this you? I little thought to have seen your honour here till the summer session was over.” “Ye donnard auld devil,” answered Monkbarns, his Scottish accent predominating when in anger, though otherwise particularly remarkable, “ ye don- nard auld crippled ideot, what have I to do with the session or the geese that flock to it, or the hawks that pick their pinions for them?” “ Troth, and that’s true,” said mine host, who, in fact, only spoke upon a very general recollection of THE ANTIQUARY. 15 the stranger’s original education, yet would have been sorry not to have been supposed accurate as to the station and profession of him, or any other occa- sional guest; “ That’s very true—but I thought you had some law affair of your ain to look after—I have ane mysell—a ganging plea that my father left me, and his father afore left to him. It’s about our back yard—ye’ll may be hae heard of it in the Parliament house. Hutchinson against Mackitchinson—it’s a weel-kenn’d plea—it’s been four times in afore the fifteen, and de’il ony thing the wisest o’ them could make o’t, but just to send it out again to the outer house. O it’s a beautiful thing to see how lang and how carefully justice is considered in this country!” “ Hold your tongue, you fool,” said the traveller, but in great good humour, “ and tell us what you can give this young gentleman and me for dinner.” “ Ou, there’s fish, nae doubt, that’s sea-trout and caller haddocks,” said Mackitchinson, twisting his napkin; “ and ye’ll be for a mutton-chop, and there’s cranberry tarts, very well preserved, and—there’s just ony thing else ye like.” “ Which is to say, there is nothing else whatever —well, well, the fish, and the chop, and the tarts will do very well. But don’t imitate the cautious delay that you praise in the courts of justice. Let there be no remits from the inner to the outer house, hear ye me?” “ Na, na,” said Mackitchinson, whose long and heedful perusal of volumes of printed session papers had made him acquainted with some law phrases— “ the denner shall be served quam primum, and that peremptorie.” And with the flattering laugh of a promising host, he left them in his sand parlour, hung with prints of the Four Seasons. As, notwithstanding his pledge to the contrary, the glorious delays of the law were not without their parallel in the kitchen of the inn, our younger tra- veller had an opportunity to step out and make some inquiry at the people of the 'house concerning the 16 THE ANTIQUARY. rank and station of his companion. The information which he received was of a general and less authentic nature, but quite sufficient to make him acquainted with the name, history, and circumstances of the gen- tleman, whom we shall endeavour, in a few words, to introduce more accurately to our readers. Jonathan Oldenbuck, or Oldinbuck, by popular contraction Oldbuck, of Monkbarns, was the second son of a gentleman possessed of a small property in the neighbourhood of a thriving seaport town in the north-eastern coast of Scotland, which, for various reasons, we shall denominate Fairport. They had been established for several generations as landhold- ers in the country, and in most shires of England would have been counted a family of some standing. But the shire of was filled with gentlemen of more ancient descent and larger fortune. In the lasf generation, also, the neighbouring gentry had been almost uniformly Jacobites, while the proprietors of Monkbarns, like the burghers of the town near which they were settled, were steady assertors of the Protestant succession. The latter had, however, a pedigree of their own, on which they prided them- selves, as much as those who despised them valued their respective Saxon, Norman, or Celtic genealo- gies. The first Oldenbuck, who had settled in their family mansion shortly after the reformation, was, they asserted, descended from one of the original printers of Germany, and had left his country in consequence of the persecutions directed against the professors of the reformed religion. He had found a refuge in the town near which his posterity dwelt, the more readily that he was a sufferer in the Pro- testant cause, and certainly not the less so that he brought with him money enough to purchase the small estate of Monkbarns, then sold by a dissipated laird, to whose father it had been gifted, with other church lands, upon the dissolution of the great and wealthy monastery to which it had belonged. The Oldenbucks were, therefore, loyal subjects on all oc- THE ANTXqCTARY. ir casions of insurrection; and, as they kept up a good intelligence with the borough, it chanced that the laird of Monkbarns, who flourished in 1745, was provost of the town during that ill fated year, and had exerted himself with much spirit in favour of King George, and even been put to expenses on that score, which, according to the liberal conduct of the existing government towards their friends, had never been repaid him. By dint of solicitation, however, and borough interest, he contrived to gain a place in the customs, and, being d" frugal, careful man, had found himself enabled to add considerably to his pa- ternal fortune. He had only two sons, of whom, as we have hinted, the present laird was the younger, and two daughters, one of whom still flourished in single blessedness, and the other, who was greatly more juvenile, made a love match with a captain in the Forty-txva, who had no other fortune but his commission and a Highland pedigree. Poverty dis- turbed a union which love would otherwise have made happy, and Captain MHntyre, in justice to his wife and two infants, a boy and girl, had found him- self obliged to seek his fortune in the East Indies. Being ordered upon an expedition against Hyder Alley, the detachment to which he belonged was cut off, and no news ever j-eached his unfortunate wife whether he fell in battle, or was murdered in prison, or survived, in what the habits of the Indian tyrant rendered a hopeless captivity. She sunk under the accumulated load of grief and uncertainty, and left her children to the charge of her brother, the existing laird of Monkbarns. The history of that proprietor himself is soon told. Being, as we have said, a second son, his father des- tined him to a share in a substantial mercantile con- cern, carried on by some of his maternal relations. From this Jonathan’s mind revolted in the most irreconcilable manner. He was then put apprentice to the profession of a writer, or attorney, in which he profited so far, that he made himself master of 2* 18 THE ANTIQUARY. the whole forms of feudal investitures, and shared such pleasure in reconciling their incongruities, and tracing their origin, that his master had great hope he would one day be an able conveyancer. But he halted upon the threshold, and, though he acquired some knowledge of the origin and system of the law of his country, he could never be persuaded to apply it to lucrative and practical purposes. It was not from any inconsiderate neglect of the advantages at- tending the possession of money that he thus deceived the hopes of his master. “ Were he thoughtless or lightheaded, or ret sues prodigus” said his instructor, “ I would know what to make of him. But he never pays away a shilling without looking anxiously after the change, makes his sixpence go farther than ano- ther lad’s half-crown, and will ponder over an old black-letter copy of the acts of parliament for days, rather than go to the golf or the change-house; and yet he will not bestow one of these days on a little business of routine, that would put twenty shillings in his pocket—a strange mixture of frugality and in- dustry, and negligent indolence—I don’t know what to make of him.” But in process of time his pupil gained the means of making what he pleased of himself, for his father having died, was not long survived by his eldest son, an arrant fisher and fowler, who departed this life in consequence of a cold caught in his vocation, while shooting ducks in the swamp called Kittlefitting- moss, notwithstanding his having drunk a bottle of brandy that very night to keep the cold out of his stomach. Jonathan, therefore, succeeded to the estate, and with it to the means of subsisting without the hated drudgery of the law. His wishes were very moderate; and as the rent of his small property rose with the improvement of the country, it soon greatly exceeded his wants and expenditure; and though too indolent to make money, he was by no means insensible to the pleasure of beholding it ac- cumulate. The burghers of the town near which he THE ANTIQUARY. 19 lived, regarded him with some sort of envy, as one who affected to divide himself from their rank in so- ciety, and whose studies and pleasures seemed to them alike incomprehensible. Still, however, a sort of hereditary respect for the laird of Monkbarns, augmented by the knowledge of his being a ready- money man, kept up his consequence with this class of his neighbours. The country gentlemen were generally above him in fortune, and beneath him in intellect, and, excepting one with whom he lived in habits of intimacy, had little intercourse with Mr. Oldbuck of Monkbarns. He had, however, the usual resources, the company of the clergyman, and of the doctor, when he chose to request it, and also his own pursuits and pleasures, being in correspon- dence with most of the virtuosi of his time, who, like himself, measured decayed entrenchments, made plans of ruined castles, read illegible inscriptions, and wrote essays upon medals in the proportion of twelve pages to each letter of the legend. Some habits of hasty irritation he had contracted, partly, it was said, in the borough of Fairport, from an early disappoint- ment in love, in virtue of which he had commenced misogonyst, as he called it, but yet more by the ob- sequious attention paid to him by his maiden sister and his orphan neice, whom he had trained to con- sider him as the greatest man upon earth, and whom he used to boast of as the only women he had ever seen who were well broke-in and bitted to obedience; though, it must be owned, Miss Grizzy Oldbuck was sometimes apt to jibb when he pulled the reins too tight. The rest of his character must be gathered from the story, and we dismiss, with pleasure, the tiresome task of recapitulation. During the time of dinner, Mr. Oldbuck, actuated by the same curiosity which his fellow traveller had entertained on his account, made some advances, which his age and station entitled him to do in a more direct manner, towtrfds ascertaining the name, des- tination, and quality of his young companion. 20 THE ANTIQUARY. His name, the young gentleman said, was Lovel. “ What! the Cat, the Rat, and Lovel our dog? was he descended from King Richard’s favourite?” “ He had no pretensions,” he said, “ to call him- self a whelp of that litter; his father was a north-of- Engiand gentleman. He was at present travelling to Fairport, (the town near to which Monkbarns was situated,) and, if he found the place agreeable, might perhaps remain there for some weeks.” “ Was Mr. Level’s excursion solely for plea- sure?” “ Not entirely.” “ Perhaps on business with some of the commer- cial people of Fairport?” “ It was partly on business, but had no reference to commerce.” Here he paused; and Mr. Oldbuck having pushed his inquiries as far as good manners permitted, was obliged to change the conversation. The Antiquary, though by no means an enemy to good cheer, was a determined foe to all unnecessary expense upon a journey; and upon his companion giving a hint con- cerning a bottle of port wine, he drew a direful pic- ture of the mixture, which, he said, was usually sold under that denomination, and, affirming that a little punch was more genuine, and better syited for the season, he laid his hand upon the bell to order the materials. But xMackitchinson had, in his own mind, settled their beverage otherwise, and appeared bearing in his hand an immense double quart bottle, or magnum as it is called in Scotland, covered with sawdust and cobwebs, the warrants of its antiquity. “ Punch!” said he, catching that generous sound as he entered the parlour, “ the de’il a drap punch ye’se get here the day, Monkbarns, and that ye may lay your account wi’.” “ What do you mean, you impudent rascal?” u Ay, ay, it’s no matter for that—but do you mind the trick ye served me the last time ye were here?” THE ANTIQUARY. 21 “ I trick you!” “ Aye, just yoursell, Monkbarns. The laird o’ Tamlowrie, ani Sir Gilbert Grizzlecleugh, and auld Rossballoh^ and the Baillie, were just setting in to make an afternoon o’t, and you, wi’ some o’ your auld warld stories, that the mind o’ man canna resist, whirl’d them to the back o’ beyont to look at the auld Roman camp—Ah, sir!” turning to Lovel, “ he wad wile the bird a If the tree wi’ the tales he tells about folk lang syne—and did not I lose the drinking o’ sax pints o’ gude claret, for the de’il ane wad hae stirred till he had seen that out at the least.” “ D’ye hear the impudent scoundrel,” said Monk- barns, but laughing at the same time; for the worthy landlord, as he used to boast, knew the measure of a guest’s foot as well as e’er a soulter on this side Solway; “ well, well, you may send us in a bottle of port.” “ Port! na, na! ye maun leave port and punch to the like o’ us, it’s claret that’s fit for you lairds; and, I dare say, nane o’ the folk you speak so much o’ ever drank either of the twa.” “ Do you hear how absolute the knave is? Well, my young friend, we must for once prefer the Faler- nian to the vile Sabinum.'" The ready landlord had the cork instantly extract- ed, decanted the wine into a vessel of suitable capa- ciousness, and, declaring \x. parfumed the very room, left his guests to make the most of it. Mackitchinson’s wine was really good, and had its elfect upon the spirits of the elder guest, who told some good stories, cut some sly jokes, and at length entered into a learned discussion concerning the an- cient dramatists, a ground on which he found his new acquaintance so strong, that at length he began to suspect he had made them his professional study. “ A traveller partly for business and partly for plea- sure? Why, the stage partakes of both; it is a labour to the performers, and affords, or is meant to afford, pleasure to the spectators. He seems, in manner and 22 THE ANTiqUARY. rank, above tfye class of young men who take that turn; but I remember hearing them say, that the little theatre at Fairport was to open with the performance of a young gentleman, being his first appearance on any stage—if this should be thee, Lovel? Lovel? yes, Lovel or Belville are just the names which young- sters are apt to assume on such occasions—on my life, I am sorry for the lad.” Mr. Oldbuck was habitually parsimonious, but not mean; his first thought was to save his fellow tra- veller any part of the expense of the entertainment, which he supposed must be, in his situation, more or less inconvenient. He, therefore, took an oppor- tunity of settling privately with Mr. Mackitchinson. The young traveller remonstrated against his libe- rality, and only acquiesced in deference to his years and respectability. The mutual satisfaction which they found in each other’s society, induced Mr. Oldbuck to propose, and Lovel willingly to accept, a scheme for travelling to- gether to the end of their journey. Mr. Oldbuck in- timated a wish to pay two thirds of the hire of a post chaise, saying, that a proportional quantity of room was necessary to his accommodation; but this Mr. Lovel resolutely declined. Their expense then was mutual, unless when Lovel occasionally slipt a shil- ling into the hand of a growling postillion, for Old- buck, tenacious of ancient customs, never extended his guerdon beyond eighteen pence a stage. In this manner they travelled, until they arrived at Fairport about two o’clock on the following day. Lovel probably expected that his travelling com- panion would have invited him to dinner upon his arrival; but his consciousness of a want of ready preparation for unexpected guests, and perhaps some other reasons, prevented Oldbuck from paying him that attention. He only begged to see him as early as he could make it convenient to call in a forenoon, recommended him to a widow who had apartments to let, and to a person who kept a decent ordinary, THE ANTIQUARY. 23 cautioning both of them apart, that he only knew Mr. Lovel as a pleasant companion in a post chaise, and did not mean to guaranty any bills which he might contract while residing at Fairport. The young gentleman’s figure, and manners, not to men- tion a well-furnished trunk, which soon arrived by sea, to his address at Fairport, probably went as far in his favour, as the limited recommendation of his fellow traveller.

CHAPTER III. HeRusty had aim a routh caps, o’ and auld jinglin nick-nackets. jackets, Would held theA towmondLoudens threegude; in tackets And parritch-pats,Afore andthe auldflude. saut backets. After he had settled himself in his new apart- ments at Fairport, Mr. Lovel bethought him of pay- ing the requested visit to his fellow traveller. He did not make it earlier, because, with all the old gen- tleman’s good humour and information, there had sometimes glanced forth in his language and manners towards him an air of superiority, which his com- panion considered as being fully beyond what the difference of age warranted. He therefore, waited the arrival of his baggage from Edinburgh, that he might arrange his dress according to the fashion of the day, and make his exterior corresponding to the rank in society which he supposed or felt himself en- titled to hold. It was the fifth day after his arrival, that, having made the necessary inquiries concerning the road, he went forth to pay his respects at Monkbarns. A footpath, leading over a heathy hill, and through two or three meadows, conducted him to this mansion, which stood upon the opposite side of the hill afore- 24 THE ANTIQUARY. said, and commanded a fine prospect of the bay and shipping. Secluded from the town by the rising ground, which also screened it from the northwest wind, the house had a solitary and sheltered appear- ance. The exterior had little to recommend it. It was an irregular, old-fashioned building, some part of which had belonged to a grange, or solitary farm house, inhabited by the bailiff or steward, of the monastery, when the place was in possession of the monks. It was here that the community stored up the grain which they received as ground rent from their vassals; for, with the prudence belonging to their order, all their conventional revenues were made payable in kind, and hence, as the present pro- prietor loved to tell, came in the name of Monk- barns. To the remains of the bailiff’s house, the succeeding lay inhabitants had made various addi- tions, in proportion to the accommodation required by their families; and, as this was done with an equal contempt of convenience within, and architectural regularity without, the whole bore the appearance of a hamlet which had suddenly stood still when in the act of leading down one of Amphion’s or Orpheus’s country dances. It was surrounded by tall clipped hedges of yew and holly, some of which still exhi- bited the skill of the topiarian artist, and presented curious arm-chairs, towers, and the figures of St. George and the dragon. The taste of Mr. Oldbuck did not disturb these monuments of an art now un- known, and he was the less tempted so to do, as he must necessarily have broken the heart of the old gardener. One tall embowering holly was however sacred from the shears; and, on a garden seat be- neath its shade, Lovel beheld his old friend, with spectacles on nose, and pouch on side, busily em- ployed in perusing the London Chronicle, soothed by the summer breeze through the rustling leaves, and the distant dash of the waves as they rippled upon the sand. Mr. Oldbuck immediately rose, and advanced to THE ANTIQUARY. 25 greet his travelling acquaintance with a hearty shake of the hand. ' “ By my faith,” said he, “ I began to think you had changed your mind, and found the stupid people of Fairport so tiresome, th?t you judged them unworthy of your talents, and had taken French leave, as my old friend and brother antiquary, Mac-Cribb, did, when he went off with one of my Syrian medals.” “ I hope, my good sir, I should have fallen under no such imputation.” “ Quite as bad, let me tell you, if you had stolen yourself away without giving me the pleasure of seeing you again. I had rather you had taken my copper Otho himself. But come, let me show you the way into my sanctum sanctorum, my cell I may call it, for, except two idle hussies of womankind, (by this contemptuous phrase, borrowed from his brother antiquary, the cynic Anthony A. Wood, Mr. Oldbuck was used to denote the fair sex in general, and his sister and niece in particular,) that, on some idle pretext of relationship, have established them- selves in my premises, I live here as much a Cseno- bite as my predecessor, John o’ the Girnell, whose gra'-e I will show you by and by.” Thus speaking, the old gentleman showed the way through a low door; but before entrance, suddenly stopt short to point out some vestiges of what he called an inscription, and shaking his head as he pro- nounced it totally illegible, “ Ah! if you but knew, Mr. Lovel, the time and trouble that these moulder- ing traces of letters have cost me! No mother ever travailed so for a child—and all to no purpose—al- though I am almost positive that these two last marks imply the figures, or letters, LV, and may give us a good guess at the real date of the building, since we know, aliunde, that it was founded by Abbot Waldimir, about the middle of the fourteenth cen- tury—and, I profess, I think that centre ornament might be made out by better eyes than mine.” “ IVOL. think,” I. answered Lovel,3 willing to humour 26 THE ANTiqUARY. the old man, “ it has something the appearance of a mitre.” “ I protest you are right! you are right! it never struck me before—see what it is to have younger eyes—a mitre, a mitre, it corresponds in every re- spect.” The resemblance was not much more near than that of Polonius’s cloud to a whale, or an owzel; it was sufficient, however, to put the Antiquary’s brains to work. “ A mitre, my dear sir,” continued he, as he showed the way through a labarynth of inconve- nient and dark passages, and accompanied his disqui- sition with certain necessary cautions to his guest— “ A mitre, my dear sir, will suit our abbot as well as a bishop—he was a mitred abbot, and at the very top of the roll—take care of these three steps—I know Mac-Cribb denies this, but it is as certain as that he took away my Antigonus, no leave asked— you’ll see the name of the Abbot of Trotcosey, Ab- bas Trottocosiensis, at the head of the rolls of Par- liament in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries— there is very little light here, and these cursed wo- mankind always leave their tubs in the passage— now, take care of the corner—ascend twelve steps and ye are safe.” Mr. Oldbuck had, by this time, attained the top of the winding stair which led to his own apartment, and opening a door, and pushing aside a piece of tapestry, with which it was covered, his first excla- mation was, “ What are you about here, you sluts?” A dirty, barefooted chambermaid threw down her duster, detected in the heinous fact of arranging the sanctum sanctorum, and fled out of an opposite door from the face of her incensed master. A genteel- looking young woman, who was superintending the operation, stood her ground, but with some timidity. “ Indeed, uncle, your room was not fit to be seen, and I just came to see that Jenny laid every thing down where she took it up. “ And how dare you, or Jenny either, presume to THE ANTIQUARY. 27 meddle with my private matters? (Mr. Oldbuck hated putting to rights as much as Dr. Orkburne or any other professed student.) Go sew your sampler, you monkey, and do not let me find you here again as you value your ears. I assure you, Mr. Lovel, that the last inroad of these pretended friends to cleanliness, was almost as fatal to my collection as Hudibras’s visit to that of Sidrophel, and I have ever since missed Engraved“ My copperplate, upon’t, and with other almanacks knacks; AndMy moon-dial,several constellation with Napier’s stones; bones, IMy purchased flea, my formorpeon, my proper and ease.”punaise, And so forth, as old Butler has it.” The young lady, after courtesying to Lovel, had taken the opportunity to make her escape during this enumeration of losses. “ You’ll be poisoned here with the volumes of dust they have raised,” continued the Antiquary, “ but I assure you the dust was very ancient, peaceful, quiet dust, about an hour ago, and would have remained so for a hundred years, had not these gipsies disturbed it, as they do every thing else in the world.” It was, indeed, some time before Lovel could, through the thick atmosphere, perceive in what sort of den his friend had constructed his retreat. It was a lofty room of middling size, obscurely lighted by high, narrow, latticed windows. One end was en- tirely occupied by book-shelves, greatly too limited in space for the number of volumes placed upon them, which were therefore drawn up in ranks of two or three files deep, while numberless others lit- tered the floor and the tables, amid a chaos of maps, engravings, scraps of parchment, bundles of papers, pieces of old armour, swords, dirks, helmets, and Highland targets. Behind Mr. Oldbuck’s seat, (which was an ancient leathern-covered easy-chair, worn smooth by constant use,) tvas a huge oaken 28 THE ANTIQUARY. cabinet, decorated at each corner with Dutch cherubs, having their little duck-wings displayed, and great jolter-headed visages placed between them. The top of this cabinet was covered with busts, and Ro- man lamps and paterae, intermingled with one or two bronze figures. The walls of the apartment were partly clothed with grim old tapestry, representing the memorable story of Sir Gawaine’s wedding, in which full justice was done to the Lothely Lady; although, to judge from his own looks, the gentle knight had less reason to be disgusted with the match on account of disparity of outward favour, than the romancer has given us to understand. The rest of the room was pannelled, or wainscotted, with black oak, against which hung two or three portraits in armour, being characters in Scottish history, favour- ites of Mr. Oldbuck, and as many in tie-wigs and laced-coats, staring representatives of his own an- cestors. A large oldfashioned oaken table was co- vered with a profusion of papers, parchments, books, and non-descript trinkets and gewgaws, which seem- ed to have little to recommend them beside rust, and the antiquity which it indicates. In the midst of this wreck of ancient books and utensils, with a gravity equal to Marius among the ruins of Car- thage, sat a large black cat, which, to a superstitious eye, might have presented the genius loci, the tutelar daemon of the apartment. The floor, as well as the table and chairs, was overflowed by the same mare magnum of miscellaneous trumpery, where it would have been as impossible to find any individual article wanted, as to put it to any use when discovered. Amid this medley, it was no easy matter to find one’s way to a chair without stumbling over a pros- trate folio, or the still more awkward mischance of overturning some piece of Roman or ancient British pottery. And, when the chair was attained, it had to be disencumbered, with a careful hand, of engrav- ings which might have received damage, and of an- tique spurs and buckles, which would certainly have THE ANTIQUARY. 29 occasioned it to any sudden occupant. Of this, the Antiquary made Level particularly aware, adding, that his friend, the Rev. Doctor Heavysterne, from the Low Countries, had sustained much injury by sitting down suddenly and incautiously on three an- cient calthrops, or craw-taes, which had been lately dug up in the bog near Bannockburn, and which, dispersed by Robert Bruce to lacerate the feet of the English chargers, came thus in process of time to endamage the sitting part of a learned professor of Utrecht. Having, at length, fairly settled himself, and being nothing loathe to make inquiry concerning the strange objects around him, which his host was equally ready, as far as possible, to explain, Lovel was introduced to a large club, or bludgeon, with an iron spike at the end of it, which, it seems, had been lately found in a field on the Monkbarns property, adjacent to an old burying ground. It had mightily the air of such a stick as the Highland reapers used to walk with on their annual perigrinations from their mountains. But Mr. Oldbuck was strongly tempted to believe, that its shape was singular, it might have been one of the clubs with which the monks armed their peas- ants, in lieu of more martial weapons, whence, he observed, the villains were called Colve-carles, or Kolb-kerls, that is, Clavigeri, or club-bearers. For the truth of this custom, he quoted the chronicle of Antwerp, and that of St. Martin, against which authorities Lovel had nothing to oppose, having never heard of them till that moment. Mr. Oldbuck next exhibited thumbscrews, which had given the Covenanters of former days the cramp in their joints, and a collar with the name of a fellow convicted of theft, whose services, as the inscription bore, had been adjudged to a neighbouring baron, in lieu of modern Scottish punishment, which, as Old- buck said, sends such culprits to enrich England by their labour, and themselves by their dexterity. Many and various were the other curiosities which 30 THE ANTIQUARY. he showed; but it was chiefly upon his books that he prided himself, repeating with a complacent air, as he led the way to the crowded and dusty shelves, the verses of old Chaucer— A“ Fortwenty he would books, rather clothed have in blackat his orbed-head, red, OfThan Aristotle, robes rich, or his rebeck, philosophy. or saltery.” This pithy motto he delivered, shaking his head, and giving each guttural the true Anglo-Saxon enunci- ation, which is now forgotten in the southern parts of this realm. The collection was, indeed, a curious one, and might well be envied by an amateur. Yet it was not collected at the enormous prices of modern times, which are sufficient to have appalled the most deter- mined, as well as earliest bibliomaniac upon record, whom we take to have been none else than the re- nowned Don Quixote de la Mancha, as, among other slight indications of an infirm understanding, he is stated, by his veracious historian, Cid Hamed Ben- engeli, to have exchanged fields and farms for folios and quartos of chivalry. In this species of exploit, the good knight-errant has been imitated by lords, knights, and ’squires, of our own day, though we have not yet heard of any that has mistaken an inn for a castle, or laid his lance in rest against a windmill. Mr. Oldbuck did not follow these collectors in such excess of expenditure; but, taking a pleasure in the personal labour of forming his library, saved his purse at the expense of his time and toil. He was no encourager of that ingenious race of peripatetic middlemen, who, trafficking between the obscure keeper of a stall, and the eager amateur, made their profit at once of the ignorance of the former, and the dear-bought skill and taste of the latter. When such were mentioned in his hearing, he seldom failed to point out how necessary it was to arrest the object of your curiosity in its first transit, and to tell his THE ANTIQUARY. 31 favourite story of Snuffy Davy and Caxton’s Game of Chess. “ Davy Wilson,” he said, “ commonly called Snuffy Davy, from his inveterate addiction to black rappee, was the very prince of scouts for searching blind alleys, cellars, and stalls, for rare volumes. He had the scent of a slow-hound, sir, and the snap of a bull-dog. He would detect you an old black- letter ballad among the leaves of a law-paper, and find an editio princeps under the mask of a school Corde- rius. Snuffy Davy bought the ‘ Game of Chess, 1474,’ the first book ever printed in England, from a stall in Holland, for about two groschen, or two- pence of our money. He sold it to Osborne for twenty pounds, and as many hooks as came to twenty pounds more. Osborne resold this inimitable wind- fall to Dr. Askew for sixty guineas. At Dr. As- kew’s sale,” continued the old gentleman, kindling as he spoke, “ this inestimable treasure blazed forth in its full value, and was purchased by royalty itself, for one hundred and seventy pounds! Could a copy now occur, Lord only knows,” he ejaculated, with a deep sigh, and lifted-up hands, “ Lord only knows what would be its ransom; and yet it was originally secured by skill and research, for the equivalent of twopence Stirling. Happy, thrice happy, Snuffy Davy! and blessed were the times when thy industry could be so rewarded! “ Even I, sir,” he went on, “ though far inferior in industry, and discernment, and presence of mind, to that great man, can show you a few, a very few things, which I have collected, not by force of money, as any wealthy man might, although, as my friend Lucian says, he might chance to throw away his coin only to illustrate his ignorance, but gained in a manner that shows I know something of the matter. See this bundle of ballads, not one of them later than 1700, and some of them a hundred years olcler. I wheedled an old woman out of these, who loved them better than her psalm-book. Tobacco, sir, snuff, and the Complete Syrene, were the equivalent! For that 3.2 THE ANTiqUARV. mutilated copy of the Complaynt of Scotland, I sat out the drinking of two dozen bottles of strong ale with the late learned proprietor, who, in gratitude, bequeathed it to me by his last will. These little Elzevirs are the memoranda and trophies of many a walk by night and morning through the Cowgate,the Canongate, the Bow, Saint Mary’s Wynd, wherever, in fine, there were to be found brokers and trokers, those miscellaneous dealers in things rare and curi- ous. How often have I stood haggling upon a half- penny, lest, by a too ready acquiescence in the dealer’s first price, he should be led to suspect the value I set upon the article!—how have I trembled, lest some passing stranger should chop in between me and the prize, and regarded each poor student of divinity that stopped to turn over the books at the stall, as a rival amateur, or prowling bookseller in disguise!—And then, Mr. Lovel, the sly satisfaction with which one pays the consideration and pockets the article, affect- ing a cold indifference while the hand is trembling with pleasure!—Then to dazzle the eyes of our wealthier and emulous rivals by showing them such a treasure as this—(displaying a little black smoked book about the size of a primer)—to enjoy their sur- prise and envy, shrouding meanwhile, under a veil of mysterious consciousness, our own superior know- ledge and dexterity—these, my young friend, these are the white moments of life, that repay the toil, and pains, and sedulous attention, which our profession, above all others, so peculiarly demands. Lovel was not a little amused at hearing the old gentleman run on in this manner, and, however in- capable of entering into the full merits of what he beheld, he admired, as much as could have been ex- pected, the various treasures which Oldbuck exhi- bited. Here were editions esteemed as being the first, and there stood those scarcely less regarded as being the last and best; here was a book valued be- cause it had the author’s final improvements, and there another which (strange to tell!) was in request THE ANTIQUARY. 33 because it wanted them. One was precious because it was a folio, another because it was a duodecimo; some because they were tall, some because they were short; the merit of this lay in the title page, of that in the arrangement of the letters in the word Finis. There was, it seemed, no peculiar distinction, how- ever trifling or minute, which might not give value to a volume, providing the indispensable quality of scarcity, or rare occurrence, was attached to it. Not the least fascinating was the original broad- side—the Dying Speech, Bloody Murder, or Won- derful Wonder of Wonders, in its original tattered guise, as it was hawked through the streets, and sold for the cheap and easy price of one penny, though now worth the weight of that penny in gold. On these the Antiquary dilated with transport, and read, with a rapturous voice, the elaborate titles, which bore the same proportion to the contents that the painted signs without a showman’s booth do to the animal’s within. Mr. Oldbuck, for example, piqued himself especially in possessing an unique broadside, entitled and called ‘ Strange and wonderful News from Chipping-Norton, in the County of Oxon, of certain dreadful Apparitions which were seen in the Air on the 28th of July, 1610, at Half an Hour after Nine o’clock at Noon, and continued till Eleven, in which Time was seen Appearances of several flaming Swords, strange Motions of the superior Orbs, with the unusual sparkling of the Stars, with their dread- ful Continuations: With the Account of the Opening of the Heavens, and strange appearances therein dis- closing themselves, wdth several other prodigious Circumstances not heard of in any Age, to the great Amazement of the beholders, as it was communicated in a Letter to one M. Colley, living in West Smith- field, and attested by Thomas Brown, Elizabeth Greenaway, and Ann Gutheridge, who were Spec- tators of the dreadful Apparitions—And if any one would be further satisfied of the Truth of this Rela- tion, let them repair to Mr. Nightingale’s, at the 34 THE ANTIQUARY. Bear Inn, in West Smithfield, and they maybe satis- fied.’ “ You laugh at this,” said the proprietor of the collection, “ and I forgive you. I do acknowledge that the charms on which we doat are not so obvious to the eyes of youth as those of a fair lady; but you will grow wiser, and see more justly, when you come to wear spectacles. Yet stay, I have one piece of antiquity which you, mayhap, will prize more highly.” So saying, Mr. Oldbuck unlocked a drawer, and took out a bundle of keys, then pulled aside a piece of the tapestry that concealed the door of a small closet, into which he descended by four stone steps, and, after some tinkling among bottles and cans, produced two long-stalked wine-glasses with bell mouths, such as are seen in Teniers’ pieces, and a small bottle of what he called rich racy canary, with a little bit of diet-cake, on a small silver server of exquisite old workmanship. “ I will say nothing of the server,” he remarked, “ though it is said to have been wrought by the old mad Florentine, Benevento Cellini. But, Mr. Lovel, our ancestors drank sack —you, who admire the drama, know where that’s to be found. Here’s success to your exertions at Fair- port, sir!” “ And to you, sir, and an ample increase to your treasure, with no more trouble on your part than is just necessary to make the acquisitions valuable.” After a libation so suitable to the amusement in which they had been engaged, Lovel rose to take his leave, and Mr. Oldbuck prepared to give him his company a part of the way, and show him something worthy of his curiosity on his return to Fairport. THE ANTIQUARY. 35

CHAPTER IV. The pauky auld carle cam ower the lea, Wi’Saying, mony Kind good-e’ens sir, for your and courtesy.good-morrows to me, Will ye lodge a silly poor man? The Gaberlunzie Man. Oar two friends moved through a little orchard, where the aged apple-trees, well loaded with fruit, showed, as is usual in the neighbourhood of monastic buildings, that the days of the monks had not always been spent in indolence, but often dedicated to hor- ticulture and gardening. Mr. Oldbuck failed not to make Lovel remark, that the planters of those days were possessed of the modern secret of preventing the roots of the fruit-trees from penetrating the till, and compelling them to spread in a lateral direc- tion, by placing paving-stones beneath the trees when first planted, so as to interpose between their fibres and the sub-soil. “ This old fellow,” he said, “ which was blown down last summer, and still, though half reclined on the ground, is covered with fruit, has been, as you may see, accommodated with such a barrier, between his roots and the unkindly till. That other tree has a story: the fruit is called the Abbot’s Apple; the lady of a neighbouring baron was so fond of it, that she would often pay a visit to Monkbarns, to have the pleasure of gathering it from the tree. The husband, a jealous man belike, sus- pected that a taste so nearly resembling that of Mother Eve prognosticated a similar fall. As the honour of a noble family is concerned, I will say no more on the subject, only that the lands of Lochard and Cringlecut still pay a fine of six bolls of barley, annually, to atone the guilt of their audacious owner, who intruded himself and his worldly suspicions upon the seclusion of the Abbot and his penitent. Admire the little belfrey rising above the ivy-man- 36 THE ANTIQUARY. tied porch—there was here a hospitium, hospitale, of hospitamentum, (for it is written all these various ways in the old writings and evidents,) in which the monks received pilgrims—I know our minister has said, iiv the Statistical Account, that the hospitium was situated either on the lands of Haltweary, or upon those of Half-starvet: but he is incorrect, Mr. Lovel •—that is the gate called still the Palmer’s Port, and my gardener found many hewn stones, when he was trenching the ground for winter cellery, several of which I have sent as specimens to my learned friends, and to the various antiquarian societies of which I am an unworthy member. But I will say no more at present; I reserve something for another visit, and we have an object of real curiosity before us.” While he was thus speaking, he led the way briskly through one or two rich pasture meadows to an open heath or common, and so to the top of a gentle eminence. “ Here,” he said, “ Mr. I ovel, is a truly remarkable spot.” “ It commands a fine view,’’ said his companion, looking around him. “ True: but it is not for the prospect I brought you hither; do you see nothing else remarkable? nothing on the surface of the ground?” “ Why, yes; I do see something like a ditch indis- tinctly marked.” “ Indistinctly! pardon me, sir, but the undistinct- ness must be in your powers of vision—nothing can be more plainly traced—a proper agger or vallum, with its corresponding ditch or fossa. Indistinctly! why, heaven help you, the lassie, my niece, as light- headed a goose as womankind affords, saw the traces of the ditch at once. Indistinct! why the great sta- tion at Ardock, or that at Burnswark, in Anandale, may be clearer, doubtless, because they are stative forts, whereas, this was only an occasional encamp- ment. Indistinct! why you must suppose that fools, boors, and ideots have ploughed up the land, and, like beasts and ignorant savages, have, thereby, ob- THE ANTIQUARY. 37 literated two sides of the square, and greatly injured the third; but you see, yourself, the fourth side is quite entire!” Level endeavoured to apologize, and to explain away his ill-timed phrase, and pleaded his inexperi- ence. But he was not at once quite successful. His first expression had come too frankly and naturally not to alarm the Antiquary, and he could not easily get over the shock it had given him. “ My dear sir,” continued the senior, “ your eyes are not inexperienced; you know a ditch from level ground, I presume, when you see them? Indistinct! why, the very common people, the very least boy that can herd a cow, calls it the Kaim of Kinprunes, and, if that does not imply an ancient camp, I am ignorant what does.” Love! having again acquiesced, and at length lulled to sleep the irritated and suspicious vanity of the Antiquary, he proceeded in his task of cicerone. “ You must know,” he said, “ our Scottish anti- quaries have been greatly divided about the local situation of the final conflict between Agricola and the Caledonians, some contend for Ardock, in Strath- allan, some for Innerpeffrey, some for the Raedykes, in the Mearns, and some are for carrying the scene of action as far north as Blair, in A thole. Now, after all this discussion, continued the old gentleman, with one of his slyest and most complacent looks, “ what would you think, Mr. Lovel; I say, what would you think, if the memorable scene of conflict should happen to be on this very spot called the Kaim of Kinprunes, the property of the obscure and humble individual who now speaks to you?” Then, having paused a little, to suffer his guest to digest a commu- nication so important, he resumed his disquisition in a higher tone. “ Yes, my good friend, I am indeed greatly deceived, if this place does not correspond with all the marks of that celebrated place of action. It was near the Grampian mountains—lo! yonder they are, mixing and contending with the sky on the VOL. i. 4 38 THE ANTIQUARY. skirts of the horizon! it was in conspectu classis—in sight of the Roman fleet; and would any admiral, Roman or British, wish a fairer bay to ride in than that on your right hand? It is astonishing how blind we professed antiquaries sometimes are; Sir Robert Sibbald, Saunders Gordon, General Roy, Dr. Stukely —why, it escaped all of them. I was unwilling to say a word about it till I had secured the ground; for it belonged to auld Johnnie Howie, a bonnet-laird here hard by, and many a communing we had before he and I could agree. At length—I am almost ashamed to say it—but I even brought my mind to give acre for acre of my good corn land for this barren spot. But then it was a national concern; and when the scene of so celebrated an event became my own, I was overpaid. Whose patriotism would not grow warmer, as old Johnson says, on the plains of Mara- thon? I began to trench the ground, to see what might be discovered; and the third day, sir, we found a stone, which I have transported to Monkbarns, in order to have the sculpture taken off with plaister of Paris; it bears a sacrificing vessel, and the letters A. D. L. L. which may stand, without much violence, for Agricola Dicavit Libens, Lube ns." “ Certainly, sir; for the Dutch antiquaries claim Caligula as the founder of a light-house, on the sole authority of the letters C. C. P. F., which they in- terpret Caius Caligula Pharum Fecit." u True, and it has ever been recorded as a sound exposition. I see we shall make something of you, even before you wear spectacles, notwithstanding you thought the traces of this beautiful camp indistinct when you first observed them.” “ In time, sir, and by good instruction”— “ You will become more apt. I doubt it not. You shall peruse, upon your next visit to Monkbarns, my trivial Essay upon Castrametation, with some parti- cular Remarks upon the Vestiges of Ancient Forti- fications, lately discovered by the Author at the Kaim of Kinprunes. I think I have pointed out the THE ANTIQUARY. 39 infallible touchstone of supposed antiquity. I pre- mise a few general rules on that point, on the nature, namely, of the evidence to be received in such cases. Meanwhile, be pleased to observe, for example, that I could press into my service Claudian’s famous line, “ Ille Caledoniis posuit qui castra pruinis.5’ For pruinis, though interpreted to mean hoar frostt, to which I own we are somewhat subject in this north-eastern sea-coast, may also signify a locality, namely, Prunes; the Castra Prutnis position would therefore be the Kaim of Kinprunes. But I waive this; for I am sensible it might be laid hold of by cavillers as carrying down my Castra to the time of Theodosius, sent by Valentinian into Britian as late as the year 367, or thereby. No, my good friend, I appeal to people’s eyesight—is not here the Deep- men gate? and there, but for the ravage of the horrid plough, as a learned friend calls it, would be the Prae- torian gate. On the left hand you may see some slight vestiges of the porta sinistra, and, on the right, one side of the porta dextra well nigh entire—Here, then, let us take our stand, on this tumulus, exhibit- ing the foundation of ruined buildings—the central point—the Prcetormm, doubtless, of the camp. From this place, now scarce to be distinguished, but by its slight elevation and its greener turf, from the rest of the fortification,, we may suppose Agricola to have looked forth upon the immense army of Caledonians, occupying the declivities of yon opposite hill, the infantry rising rank over rank as the form of ground displayed their array to its utmost advantage; the cavalry and covinarii, by which 1 understand the charioteers—another guise of folks from your Bond- street four-in-hand men, I trow—scouring the more level space below— 40 THE ANTIQUARY. ———See, then, Lovel—see TheirSee that gilt huge coats battle shine moving like dragon from scales;the mountains, their march AndLike thena rough see tumblingRome no storm—Seemore! them, and view them, Yes, my dear friend, from this distance it is probable —nay, it is nearly certain, that Julius Agricola be- held what our Beaumont has so admirably described! •—From this very Prsetorium”— A voice from behind interrupted his ecstatic de- scription—“ Prsetorian here, Praetorian there, I mind the bigging o’t.” Both at once turned around, Lovel with surprise, and Oldbuck with mingled surprise and indignation, at so uncivil an interruption. An auditor had stolen upon them, unseen and unheard, amid the energy of the Antiquary’s enthusiastic declamation, and the attentive civility of Lovel. He had the exterior ap- pvirance of a mendicant. A slouched hat of huge dimensions; a long white beard, which mingled with his grizzled hair; an aged, but strongly marked and expressive countenance, hardened by climate and ex- posure, to a right brick-dust complexion; a long blue gown, with a pewter badge on the right arm; two or three wallets, or bags, slung across his shoulder, for holding the different kinds of meal, when he received his charity .in kind from those who were but a degree richer than himself—all these marked at once a beg- gar by profession, and one of that privileged class which are called in Scotland the King’s Bedes-men, or, vulgarly, Bluegowns. “ What is that you say, Edie?” said Oldbuck, hoping, perhaps, that his ears had betrayed their duty; “ What were you speaking about?” “ About this bit bourock, your honour,” answered the undaunted Edie; “ I mind the bigging o’t.” “ The devil you do! Why, you old fool, it was here before you were born, and will be after you are hanged,unan!’* THE ANTiqUAEY. 41 “ Hanged or drowned, here or awa, dead or alive, I mind the bigging o’t?” “ You—you”—said the Antiquary, stammering between confusion and anger, “ you strolling vaga ■ bond, what the devil do you know about it?” “ Why, I ken this anent it, Monkbarns, and what profit have I for telling ye a lie—I just ken this about it, that about twenty years syne, I, and a whin hallen- shakers like mysel, and the mason-lads that built the lang dyke that gaes down the loaning, and twa or three herds may be, just set to wark, and built this bit thing here that ye ca’ the—the—Praetorian, and a’ just for a bield at auld Aiken Drum’s bridal, and a bit blithe gae-down wi’ had in’t, some sair rainy weather. Mair by token, Monkbarns; if ye howk up the bou- rock, as ye seem to have begun, ye’ll find, if ye have not found it already, a stane that ane o’ the mason callants cut a ladle on to have a bourd at the bride- groom, and he put four letters on’t, that’s A. D. L. L. Aiken Drum’s Lang Ladle—for Aiken was ane o’ the kale suppers o’ Fife.” “ This,” thought Lovel to himself, “ is a famous counterpart to the story of Keip on this syde” He then ventured to steal a glance at our Antiquary, but quickly withdrew it in sheer compassion. For, gentle reader, if thou hast ever beheld the visage of a damsel of sixteen, whose romance of true love has been blown up by an untimely discovery, or of a child of' ten years, whose castle of cards has been blown down by a malicious companion, I can safely aver to you, that Jonathan Oldbuck, of Monkbarns, looked neither more wise nor less disconcerted. “ There is some mistake about this,” he said, ab- ruptly turning away from the mendicant. “ De’il a bit on my side o’ the wa’,” answered the sturdy beggar, “ I never deal in mistakes, they aye bring mischances. Now, Monkbarns, that young gentleman, that’s wi’ your honour, thinks little of a carle like me,4# and yet, I’ll wager, I’ll tell him whar 42 THE ANTIQUART. he was yestreen at the gloamin, only he may be wadna like to hae’t spoken o’ in company.” Lovel’s soul rushed to his cheek with the vivid blush of two-and-twenty. “ Never mind the old rogue,” said Mr. Oldbuck, “ don’t suppose I think the worse of you for your profession; they are only prejudiced fools and cox- combs that do so. You remember what old Tully says in his oration, pro .drc/tiaconcerning one of your confraternity—Quis nostrum tam ammo agresti ac duro fuit-ut-ut—I forget the latin—the meaning is, which of us was so rude and barbarous as to remain unmoved at the death of the great Ros- cius, whose advanced age was so far from preparing us for his death, that we rather hoped one so grace- ful, so excellent in his art, ought to be exempted from the common lot of mortality. So the Prince of Orators spoke of the stage and its professors.” The words of the old man fell upon Lovel’s ears, but without conveying any precise idea to his mind, which was then occupied in thinking by what means the old beggar, who still continued to regard him with a countenance provokingly sly and intelligent, had contrived to thrust himself into any knowledge of his affairs. He put his hand in his pocket as the readi- est mode of intimating his desire of secresy, and se- curing the concurrence of the person whom he ad- dressed; and while he bestowed him an alms, the amount of which rather bore proportion to his fears than 10 his charity, looked at him with a marked ex- pression, which the mendicant, a physiognomist by profession, seemed perfectly to understand. “ Never mind me, sir—I am no tale-pyet; but there aremair een in the world than mine,” answered he, as he pocketed Lovel’s bounty, but in a tone to be heard by h»m alone, and with an expression which amply filled up what was left unspoken. Then turning to Oldbuck—“ I am awa’ to the manse, your honour. Has your honour ony word there, or to Sir Arthur, THE ANTIQUARY. 43

Oldbuck started as from a dream; and, in a hurried tone, where vexation strove with a wish to conceal it, paying, at the same time, a tribute to Edie’s smooth, greasy, unlined hat, he said, “ Go down, go down to Monkbarns—let them give you some dinner —or stay; if you do go to the manse, or to Knock- winnock, ye need say nothing about that foolish story of yours.” “ Who, I ?—Lord bless your honour, naebody sail ken a word about it frae me, mair than if the bit bourock had been there since Noah’s flood. But, Lord, they tell me your honour has gien Johnnie Howie acre for acre of the laigh crofts for this heath- er}’ knowe! Now, if he has really imposed the bou- rock on ye for an ancient wark, it’s my real opinion the bargain will never baud gude, if you would just bring down your heart to try it at the law, and say that he beguiled ye.” “ Provoking scoundrel,” muttered the indignant Antiquary between his teeth, I’ll have the hang- man’s lash and his back acquainted for this,” and then, in a louder tone—“ Never mind, Edie—it is all a mistake.” “ Troth, I am thinking sae,” continued his tor- mentor, who seemed to have pleasure in rubbing the galled wound, “ troth, I aye thought sae; and its no sae long since I said to Luckie Gemmels, ‘ Never think you, Luckie,’ said I, ‘ that his honour, Monk- barns, would hae done sic a daft-like thing, as to gie grund weel worth fifty shilling an acre, for a mailing that would be dear o’ a pund Siots. Na, na,’ quo I, ‘ depend upon’t the laird’s been imposed upon wk’ that wily do-little devil, Johnnie Howie.’ ‘But Lord had a care o’ us, sirs, how can that be,’ quo’ she again, ‘ when the laird’s sae book-learned, there’s no the like o’ him in the country side, and Johnnie Howie has hardly sense aneugh to ca’ the cows out o’ his kale-yard V ‘ Aweel, aweel,’ quo’ I2 44 THE ANTIQUARY. ‘ but ye’ll hear he’s circumvented him with some of his auld warld stories,’ for ye ken, laird, yon other time about the bodle, that ye thought was an auld coin” “ Go to the devil,” said Oldbuck; and then, in a more mild tone, as one that was conscious his reputation lay at the mercy of his antagonist, he added—“ Away with you clown to Monkbarns, and when I come back, I’ll send ye a bottle of ale to the kitchen.” “ Heaven reward your honour!” This was uttered with the true mendicant whine, as, setting his pike- staff before him, he began to move in the direction of Monkbarns—“ But did your honour,” turning round, “ ever get back the siller ye gave to the travelling packman for the bodle?” “ Curse thee! go about thy business!” “ Aweel, aweel, sir, God bless your honour! I hope ye’ll ding Johnnie Howie yet, and that I’ll live to see it.” And so saying, the old beggar moved off, relieving Mr. Oldbuck of recollections which were any thing rather than agreeable. “ Who is this familiar old gentleman?” said Lovel, when the mendicant was out of hearing. “ O, one of the plagues of the country—I have been always against poor’s rates and a workhouse — I think I’ll vote for them now, to have that scoundrel shut up. O, your old-remembered guest of a beg- gar becomes as well acquainted with you as he is with his dish—as intimate as one of the beasts fami- liar to man which signify love, and with which his own trade is especially conversant. Who is he! why, he has gone the vole—has been a soldier, ballad singer, travelling tinker, and is now a beggar. He is spoiled by our foolish gentry, who laugh at his jokes, and rehearse Edie Ochiltree’s good things as regularly as Joe Miller’s.” u He uses freedom apparently, which is the soul of wit.” “ O ay, freedom enough; he generally invents THE ANTIQUARY* 45 some damn’d improbable lie or another to provoke you, like that nonsense he talked just now—not that I’ll publish my tract till I have examined the thing to the bottom.” “ In England,” said Lovel, “ such a mendicant would get a speedy check.” “ Yes, your churchwardens and dogwhips would make slender allowance for his vein of humour. But here, curse him, he is a sort of privileged nuisance —one of the last specimens of the old-fashioned Scottish mendicant, who kept his rounds within a particular district, and was the news-carrier, the minstrel, and sometimes the historian of the parish. That rascal, now, knows more old ballads and tradi- tions than any other man in this and the four next parishes. And after all,” continued he, softening as he Went on describing Edie’s good gifts, “ the dog has some good humour. He has borne his hard fate with unbroken spirits, and it’s cruel to deny him the comfort of a laugh at his betters. The pleasure of having quizzed me, as you gay folk would call it, will be meat and drink to him for a day or two. But I must go back and look after him, or he will spread his d—d nonsensical story over half the country.” So saying, our heroes parted, Mr. Oldbuck to re- turn to his hospitium at Monkbarns, and Lovel to pursue his way to Fairport, where he arrived without further adventure.

CHAPTER V. Launeelot Gobbo. Mark me now: Now willMerchant I raise the of Venice.waters?- The theatre at Fairport had opened, but no Mr. Lovel appeared upon the boards, nor was there any thing in the habits or deportment of the young gea- 46 THE ANTIQUARY. tleman so named, which authorized Mr. Oldbuclc’s conjecture that his fellow traveller was a candidate for the public favour. Regular were the Antiquary’s inquiries at an old-fashioned barber, who dressed the only three wigs in the parish, which, in defiance of taxes and times, were still subjected to the operation of powdering and frizzling, and who, for that pur- pose, divided his time among the three employers whom fashion had yet left him—regular, I say, were Mr. Oldbuck’s inquiries at this personage, concern- ing the news of the little theatre at Fairport, expect- ing every day to hear of Mr. Level’s appearance, on which occasion the old gentleman had determined to put himself to charges in honour of his young friend, and not only to go to the play himself, but carry his womankind along with him. But old Jacob Caxon conveyed no information which warranted his taking so decisive a step as that of securing a box. He brought information, on the contrary, that there was a young man residing at Fairport, of whom the town (by which he meant all the gossips, who, having no business of their own, fill up their leisure moments by attending to that of other people) could make nothing. He sought no society, but rather avoided that which the apparent gentleness of his manners, and some degree of curiosity, induced many to offer him. Nothing could be more regular, or less resembling an adventurer, than his mode of living, which was simple, but so completely well arranged, that all who had any transactions with him were loud in their approbation. “ These are not the virtues of a stage-struck hero,” thought Oldbuck to himself; and however habitually pertinacious in his opinions, he must have been com- pelled to abandon that which he had formed in the present instance, but for a part of Caxon’s commu- nication. “ The young gentleman,” he said, “ was sometimes heard speaking to himself, and rampaging about in his room, just as if he was one o’ the player folk.” THE ANTiqUARY. 47 Nothing, however, excepting this single circum- stance, occurred to confirm Mr. Oldbuck’s supposi- tion, and it remained a high and doubtful question, what a well-informed young man, without friends, connexions, or employment of any kind, could have to do as a resident at Fairport. Neither port-wine nor whist had apparently any charms for him. He declined dining with the mess of the volunteer co- hort which had been lately embodied, and shunned sharing in the convivialities of either of the two par- ties which then divided Fairport, as they did more important places. He was too little of an aristocrat to join the club of Royal True Blues, and too little of a democrat to fraternize with an affiliated society of the soi disant Friends of the People, which the borough had also the happiness of possessing. A coffee room was his detestation; and, I grieve to say it, he had as few sympathies with the tea-table. In short, since the name was fashionable in novel- writing, and that is a great while agone, there was never a Master Lovel of whom so little positive was known, and who was so universally described by nega- tives. One negative, however, was important—nobody knew any harm of Lovel. Indeed, had such exist- ed, it would have been speedily made public, for the natural desire of speakingevil of our neighbour could in this case have been checked by no feelings of sym- pathy for a being so unsocial. Upon one account alone he fell somewhat under suspicion. As he made free use of his pencil in his solitary walks, and had drawn several views of the harbour, in which the signal-tower, and even the four-gun battery, were introduced, some jealous friends of the public sent abroad a whisper, that this mysterious stranger must certainly be a French spy. The Sheriff paid his re- spects to Mr. Lovel accordingly, but in the interview which followed, it would seem that he had entirely removed that magistrate’s suspicions, since he not «nly suffered him to remain undisturbed in his re- 48 THE ANTIQUARY. tirement,but, it was credibly reported, sent him two invitations to dinner parties, both which were civilly declined. But what the nature of the expla- nation was, the magistrate kept a profound secret, not only from the public at large, but from his sub- stitute, his clerk, his wife, and his two daughters, who formed his privy council upon all questions of official duty. All these particulars being faithfully reported by Mr. Caxon to his patron at Monkbarns, tended much to raise Mr. Lovel in the opinion of his former fellow traveller. “ A decent sensible lad,” said he to him- self, “ who scorns to enter into the fooleries and non- sense of these ideot people at Fairport. I must do something for him—I must give him a dinner—and I will write Sir Arthur to come to Monkbarns to meet him—I must consult my womankind.” Accordingly, such consultation having been pre- viously held, a special messenger, being no other than Caxon himself, was ordered to prepare for a walk to Knockwinnock castle with a letter, “ For the honour- ed Sir Arthur Wardour, of Knockwinnock, Bart.” The contents ran thus: “ Dear Sir Arthur, “ On Tuesday, the 17th curt, stilo novo, I hold a caenobitical symposion at Monkbarns, and pray you to assist thereat, at four o’clock precisely. If my fair, enemy. Miss Isabel, can-and will honour us by ac- companying you, my womankind will be but too proud to have the aid of such an auxiliary in the cause of resistance to lawful rule and right suprema- cy. If not, I will send the womankind to the manse for the day. I have a young acquaintance to make known to you, who is touched w ith some strain of a better spirit than belongs to these giddy-paced times ■—reveres his elders, and has a pretty notion of the classics—and, as such a youth must have a natural contempt for the people about Fairport, I wush to show him some rational as well as worshipful socie- ty. I am, dear Sir Arthur, &c. &c. &c. THE ANTIQUARY. 49 “ Fly with this letter, Caxon,” said the senior, holding out his missive, signatum atque sigillatum, “ fly to Knockwinnoclc, and bring me back an an- swer. Go as fast as if the town council were met, and waiting for the provost, and the provost was waiting for his new powdered wig.” “ Ah ! sir,” answered the messenger, with a deep - sigh, “ thae days hae lang gane bye. De’il a wig has a provost of Fairport worn sin5 auld Provost Jervie’s time—and he had a quean ot a servant-lass that dressed it hersell wi’ the doup o’ a candle and a drudging-box. But I hae seen the day, Monkbarns, when the town council of Fairport wad hae as soon wanted their town clerk, or their gill o’ brandy ower head after the haddo’s, as they wad hae wanted ilk ane a weel-favoured, sonsy, decent periwig on his pow, Hegh, sirs ! nae wonder the commons will be discontent and rise against the law, when they see magistrates, and baillies, and deacons, and the pro- vost himsell, wi’ heads as bald and as bare as ane o’ my blocks.” “ And as well furnished within, Caxon ; but away with you—you have an excellent view of public af- fairs, and, I dare say, have touched the cause of our popular discontent as closely as the provost could have done himself. But away with you, Caxon.” And off went Caxon upon his walk of three miles-— HeCould hobbled—but he go faster his than heart he wascould good. ?”— While he is engaged in his journey and return, it may not be impertinent to inform the reader to whose mansion he was bearing his embassy. We have said that Mr. OTdbuck kept little com- pany with the surrounding gentlemen, excepting with one person only. This was Sir Arthur War- dour, a baronet of ancient descent, and of a large but embarrassed fortune. His father, Sir Anthony, had been a Jacobite, and had displayed all the enthusiasm of thai party, while it could be served with words VOL. i. 5 50 THE ANTIQUARY. only. No man squeezed the orange with more sig- nificant gesture ; no one could more dexterously in- timate a dangerous health without coming under the penal statute ; and above all, none drunk success to the cause more deeply and devoutly. But upon the approach of the Highland army, in 1745, it would appear that the worthy baronet’s zeal became a little more moderate, just when its warmth was of most consequence. He talked much, indeed, of taking the field for the rights of Scotland and Charles Stewart, but his demi-pique saddle would suit only one of his horses, and that horse could by no means be brought to stand fire. Perhaps the worshipful owner sym- pathized in the scruple of this sagacious quadruped, and began to think, that what was so much dreaded by the horse could not be very wholesome for the rider. At any rate, while Sir Anthony Wardour talked, and drank, and hesitated, the sturdy provost of Fairport (who, as we before noticed, was the fa- ther of our Antiquary) sallied from his ancient burgh, heading a body of whig-burghers, and seized at once, in the name of George II., upon the castle of Knockwinnock, and upon the four carriage horses and person of the proprietor. Sir Anthony was shortly after sent off to the Tower of London by a secretary of state’s warrant, and with him went his son Arthur, then a youth. But as nothing appeared like an overt act of treason, both father and son were soon set at liberty, and returned to their own man- sion of Knockwinnock, to drink healths five fathoms deep, and talk of their sufferings in the royal cause. This became so much a matter of habit with Sir Ar- thur, that even after his father’s death, the nonjuring chaplain used to pray regularly for the restoration of the rightful sovereign, for the downfall of the usurper and for deliverance from their cruel and bloodthirsty enemies, although all idea of serious opposition to the house of Hanover had long mouldered away; and this treasonable liturgy was kept up rather as a matter of form than as conveying any distinct mean- THE ANTIQUARY. 51 ing. So much was this the case, that about the year 1770, upon a disputed election occurring in the country, the worthy knight fairly gulped down the oaths of abjuration and allegiance, in order to serve a candidate in whom he was interested; thus re- nouncing the heir for whose restoration he weekly petitioned heaven, and acknowledging the usurper whose dethronement he had never ceased to pray for. And to add to this melancholy instance of human inconsistence, Sir Arthur continued to pray for the house of Stuart even after the family had been ex- tinct, apd when, in truth, though in his theoretical loyalty he was pleased to regard them as alive, yet in all actual service and practical exertion, he was a most zealous and devoted subject of George III. In other respects Sir Arthur Wardour lived like most country gentlemen in Scotland—hunted and fished—gave and received dinners—attended races apd county meetings—Was a deputy-lieutenant and trustee upon turnpike acts. But in his more ad- vanced years, he became too lazy or unwieldily for field sports, he supplied them by now and then read- ing Scotch history, and having gradually acquired a taste for antiquities, though neither very deep nor very correct, he became a crony of his neighbour Mr. Oldbuck, of Monkbarns, and a joint labourer w ith him in his antiquarian pursuits. There were, however, points of difference between these two humourists, which sometimes occasioned discord. The faith of Sir Arthur as an antiquary was boundless, and Mr. Oldbuck, (notwithstanding the affair of the Prsetorium at the Kaim of Kinprunes) was much more scrupulous in receiving legends as current and authentic coin. Sir Arthur wrould have deemed himself guilty of the crime of leze-majesty had he doubted the existence of any single individ- ual of that formidable bead-roll of one hundred and four kings of Scotland received by Boethius, and rendered classical by Buchanan, in virtue of whom James VI. claimed to rule his ancient kingdom, and 52 THE ANTIQUARY. whose portraits still frown grimly upon the walls of the gallery of Holyrood. Now Oldbuck, a shrewd and suspicious man, and no respecter of divine here- ditary right, was apt to cavil at this sacred list, and to affirm, that the procession of the posterity of Fer- gus through the pages of Scottish history, was as vain and unsubstantial as the gleamy pageant of the descendants of Banquo through the cavern of Hecate. Another tender topic was the good fame of queen Mary, of which the knight was a most chivalrous assertor, while the esquire impunged it in spite both of her beauty and her misfortunes. When, unhap- pily, they fell upon yet later times, motives of dis- cord occurred in almost every page of history. Old- buck was, upon principle, a staunch presbyterian, a ruling elder of the kirk, and a friend to revolu- tion principles and protestant succession, while Sir Arthur was the very reverse of all this. They agreed it is true in dutiful love and allegiance to the sove- reign who now holds the throne, but this was their only point of union. It therefore often happened, that bickerings hot broke out between them, in which Oldbuck was not always able to suppress his caustic humour, while it would occur to the baronet, that the descendant of a German printer, whose sires had ‘‘sought the base fellowship of paltry burghers,” for- got himself, and took an unlicensed freedom of debate, considering the rank and ancient descent of his antagonist. This, with the old feud of the coach horses, and the seizure of his manor place andtowTer of strength by Mr. Oldbuck’s father would rush upon his mind, and inflame at once his cheeks and his ar- guments. And lastly, as Mr. Oldbuck thought his worthy friend and compeer was, in some respects, little better than a fool, he was apt to come more near communicatingto him that unfavourable opinion than the rules of modern politeness warrant. In such cases, they often parted in deep dudgeon, and with something like a resolution to forbear each other’s company in future; THE ANTIQUARY. 53 n But with the morning calm reflection came ; and as each was sensible that the company of the other had become, through habit, essential to his com- fort, the breach was speedily made up between them. On such occasions, Oldbuck, considering that the baron’s pettishness resembled that of a child, usual- ly showed his superior sense by compassionately making the first advances to reconciliation. But it once or twice happened, that the aristocratic pride of the far descended knight took a flight too offen- sive to the feelings of the representative of the typo- grapher. In these cases, the breach between these two originals might have been immortal but for the kind exertions and interposition of the baronet’s daughter, Miss Isabella Wardour, who, with a son, now absent upon foreign and military service, formed his whole surviving family. She was well aware how necessary Mr. Oldbuck was to her father’s amusement and comfort, and seldom failed to inter- pose with effect, when the office of a mediator be- tween them was rendered necessary, by the satiri- cal shrewdness of the one, or the assumed superiority of the other. Under Isabella’s mild influence, the wrongs of Queen Mary were forgotten by her father and Mr. Oldbuck forgave the blasphemy which re- viled the memory of King William. However, as she used in general to take her father’s part playful- ly in these disputes, Oldbuck was wont to call Isa- bella his fair enemy, though in fact he made more account of her than any other of her sex, of whom, as we have seen, he w'as no admirer. There existed another connexion betwixt these worthies, which had alternately a repelling and at- tractive influence upon their intimacy. Sir Arthur always wished to borrow ; Mr. Oldbuck was not al- ways willing to lend: Mr. Oldbuck, per contra, always wished to be repaid with regularity; Sir Arthur was not always, nor indeed often, prepared to gratify this reasonable desire; and in accomplish- 54 THE ANTIQUARY. ing an arrangement between tendencies so opposite, little miffs would occasionally take place. Still there was a spirit of mutual accommodation upon the whole, and they dragged on like dogs in couplets, with some difficulty and occasional snarling, but without absolutely coming to a stand-still or throt- ling each other. Some little disagreement, such as we have men- tioned, arising out of business, or politics, had divi- ded the houses of Knockvvinnock and Monkbarns, when the emissary of the latter arrived to discharge his errand. In his ancient Gothic parlour, whose windows on one side looked out upon the restless ocean, and, on the other, upon the long straight ave- nue, was the baronet seated, now turning over the leaves of a folio, now casting a weary glance where the sun quivered upon the dark-green foliage and smooth trunks of the large and branching limes, with which the avenue was planted. At length, sight of joy! a moving object is seen, and it gives rise to the usual inquiries, Who is it? and what can be his errand? The old whitish gray coat, the hob- bling gait, the hat, half-slouched, half-cocked, an- nounced the forlorn maker of periwigs, and left fur investigation only the second query. This was soon solved by a servant entering the parlour—“ A letter from Monkbarns, Sir Arthur.” Sir Arthur took the epistle with a due assumption of consequential dignity. u Take the old man into the kitchen, and let him get some refreshment,” said the young lady, whose compassionate eye had remarked his thin gray hair and wearied gait. “ Mr. Oldbuck, my love, invites us to dinner upon Tuesday, the 17th,” said the baronet, pausing; “ he really seems to forget that he has not of late conduct- ed himself so civilly towards me as might have been expected.” “ Dear sir, you have so many advantages over poor Mr. Oldbuck, that no wonder it should put THE ANTIQUARY, 55 him a little out of humour, but I know he has much respect for your person and your conversation; no- thing would give him more pain than to be wanting in any real attention.” “ True, true, Isabella; and one must allow for the original descent: something of the German boorish- ness still flows in the blood; something of the whig- ish and perverse opposition to established rank and privilege. You may observe that he never has any advantage of me in dispute, unless when he avails himself of a sort of pettifogging intimacy with dates, names, and trifling matters of fact, a tiresome and frivolous accuracy of memory, which is entirely ow- ing to his mechanical descent.” “ He must find it convenient in historical investi- gation, I should think, sir.” “ It leads to an uncivil and positive mode of dis- puting; and nothing seems more unreasonable than to hear him impugn even Bellenden’s rare transla- tion of Hector Boece, which I have the satisfaction to possess, and which is a black-letter folio of great value, upon the authority of some old scrap of parch- ment which he has saved from its deserved destiny of being cut up into tailors’ measures. And, be- sides, the habit of minute and troublesome accuracy leads to a mercantile manner of doing business, which ought to be beneath a landed proprietor, whose fami- ly has stood two or three generations. I question it there’s'a dealer’s clerk in Fairport that can sum an account of interest better than Monkbarns.” “ But you’ll accept his invitation, sir ?” “ Why, ye—yes; we have no other engagement on hand, I think. Who can the young man be he talks of? he seldom picks up new acquaintance; and he has no relation that I ever heard of.” “ Probably some relation of his brother-in-law, Captain MTntyre.” “Very possible; yes, we will accept; the MTn- tyres are of a very ancient Highland family. You may answer his card in the affirmative, Isabella; I 56 THE ANTIQUARY. believe I have no leisure to be Dear Sir-\ng my- self.” So this important matter being adjusted, Miss Wardour intimated u her own and Sir Arthur's compliments, and that they would have the honour of waiting upon Mr. Oldbuck. Miss' Wardour takes this opportunity to renew her hostility with Mr. Oldbuck, on account of his late long absence from Knockwinnock, tvhere his visits give so much pleasure.” With this placebo she concluded her note, with which old Caxon, now refreshed in limbs and wind, set out on his return to the Antiquary’s mansion. CHAPTER VI. From^Moth. whence By Woden, comes Wednesday;God of Saxons, that is, Wodensday, UntoTruth thylke is a thing day thatin which I will I evercreep keep into My sepulchre Cariioright’s Ordinary. Our young friend, Level, who had received a cor- responding invitation, punctual to the hour of ap- pointment, arrived at Monkbarns about five minutes before four o’clock on the 17th of July. The day had been remarkably sultry, and large drops of rain had occasionally fallen, though the threatened show- ers had as yet passed away. Mr. Oldbuck received him at the Palmer’s-port, in his complete brown suit, gray silk stockings, and wig powdered with all the skill of the veteran Cax- on, who, having smelt out the dinner, had taken care not to finish his job till the hour of eating ap- proached.” “You are welcome to my symposion, Mr. Level; and now let me introduce you to my Clogdogdo’s, as Tom Otter calls them; my unlucky and good-for- nothing womankind—malce bestiw, Mr. LoveL” THE ANTiqUARY. 57 “ I shall be disappointed, sir, if I do not find the ladies very undeserving of your satire.” “ Tilley-valley, Mr. Lovel, which, by the way, one commentator derives from titivillitium, and another from talley-ho—but tilley-valley, I say, a truce with your politeness. You will find them but samples of womankind. But here they be, Mr. Lovel. I pre- sent to you, in due_ order, my most discreet sister Griselda, who disdains the simplicity, as well as pa- tience, annexed to the poor old name of Grizzle; and my most exquisite niece Maria, whose mother was called Mary and sometimes Molly.” The elder lady rustled in silks and satins, and bore upon her head a structure resembling the fashion in the ladies’ memorandum-book for the year 1770—a superb piece of architecture—not much less than a modern Gothic castle, of which the curls might re- present the turrets, the black pins the chevaux de frize, and the lappets the banners. The face, which like that of the ancient statues of Vesta, was thus crowned with towers, was large and long, and peak- ed at nose and chin, and bore, in other respects, such a ludicrous resemblance to the physiognomy of Mr. Jonathan Oldbuck, that Lovel, had they not appear- ed at once, like Sebastian and Viola in the last scene of the “Twelfth Night,” might have supposed that the figure before him was his old friend masquerad- ing in female attire. An antique flowered silk gown graced the extraordinary person to whom belonged this unparalleled t te, which her brother was wont to say was fitter for a turban to Mahound or Ter- magant, than a headgear for a reasonable creature, or Christian gentlewoman. Two long and bony arms were terminated at the elbows by triple blonde ruf- fles, and, being folded saltire-ways in front of her person, and decorated with long gloves of a bright vermilion colour, had no bad resemblance to a pair of gigantic lobsters. High-heeled shoes, and a short silk cloak, thrown in easy negligence over her shoul- 58 THE ANTIQUARY. ders, completed the exterior of Miss Griselda Old- buck. Her niece, the same whom Lovel had seen tran- siently during his first visit, was a pretty young wo- man, genteelly dressed according to the fashion of the day, with an air of espieglere which became her very well, and which was perhaps derived from the caustic humour peculiar to her uncle’s family, though softened by transmission. Mr. Lovel paid his respects to both ladies, and was answered by the elder with the prolonged cour- tesy of 1760, drawn from the righteous period, When folks conceived a grace OfAnd half rejoiced an hour’s in space,a Friday’s capon; and by the younger with a modern reverence, which, like the festive benediction of a modern divine, was of much shorter duration. While this salutation was exchanging. Sir Arthur, with his fair daughter hanging upon his arm, having dismissed his chariot, appeared at the garden door, and in all due form paid his respects to the ladies. “ Sir, Arthur,” said the Antiquary, “ and you my fair foe, let me make known to you my young friend Mr. Lovel, a gentleman who, during the scarlet fe- ver, which is epidemic at present in this our island, has the virtue and decency to appear in a coat of a civil complexion. You see, however, that the fash- ionable colour has mustered in his cheeks wdiich ap- pears not in his garments. Sir Arthur, let me pre- sent to you a young gentleman whom your farther knowledge shall find grave, wise, courtly, and scho- lar-like, well seen, deeply read, and thoroughly grounded in all the hidden mysteries of the green- room and stage, from the days of Davie Lindsay down to those of Dibdin—he blushes again, which is a sign of grace.” “ My brother,” said Miss Griselda, addressing Lovel, 14 has a humourous way of expressing him- THE ANTIQUARY. 59 self, sir; nobody thinks any thing of what Monk- barns says—so I beg you will not be so confused lor the matter of his nonsense; but you must have had a warm walk beneath this broiling sun—would you take any thing? a glass of balm wine?” Ere Lovel could answer, the Antiquary inter- posed. “ Aroint thee, witch! wouldst thou poison my guests with thy infernal decoctions? Dost thou not remember how it fared with the clergyman whom you seduced to partake of that deceitful beverage?” “ O fie, fie, brother—Sir Arthur, did you ever hear the like! he must have every thing his own way, or he will invent such stories—But there goes Jenny to ring the old bell to tell us that the dinner is ready.” Rigid in his economy, Mr. Oldbuck kept no male servant. This he disguised, under the pretext that the masculine sex was too noble to be employed in those acts of personal servitude, which, in all early periods of society, were uniformly imposed on the female. “ Why,” would he say, “ did the boy, Tam Rintherout, whom, at my wise sister’s instiga- tion, I, with equal wisdom, took upon trial—why did he pilfer apples, take birds’ nests, break glasses, and ultimately steal my spectacles, except that he felt that noble emulation which swells in the bosom of the masculine sex, which has conducted him to Flanders with a musket on his shoulder, and doubt- less will promote him to a glorious halbert, or even to the gallows? And why does this girl, his full sis- ter, Jenny Rintherout, move in the same vocation with safe and noiseless step, shod, or unshod—soft as the pace of a cat, and docile as a spaniel—Why? but because she is in her vocation. Let them minis- ter to us. Sir Arthur, let them minister, I say—it’s the only thing they are fit for. All ancient legisla- tors, from Lycurgus to Mahommed, corruptly call- ed Mahomet, agree in putting them in their proper and subordinate rank, and it is only the crazy heads 60 THE ANTIQUARY. of our old chivalrous ancestors that erected their Dulcineas into despotic princesses.” Miss Wardour protested loudly against this un- gallant doctrine; but the bell now rung for dinner. “ Let me do all the offices of fair courtesy to so fair an antagonist,” said the old gentleman, offering- his arm. “ I remember, Miss Wardour, Mahom- med (vulgarly Mahomet) had some hesitation about j the mode of summoning his Moslemah to prayer, i He rejected bells as used by Christians, trumpets as the summons of the Guebres, and finally adopted the human voice. I have had equal doubt concerning | my dinner-call. Gongs, now in present use, seemed a new-fangled and heathenish invention, and the voice of the female wromankind I rejected as equal- ly shrill and dissonant; wherefore, contrary to the said Mahommed, or Mahomet, I have resumed the bell. It has a local propriety, since it was the con- ventual signal for spreading the repast in their re- fectory, and it has the advantage over the tongue of my sister’s prime minister, Jenny, that, though not quite so loud and shrill, it ceases ringing the instant you drop the bell-rope; whereas we know, by sad experience, that any attempt to silence Jenny only wakes the sympathetic chime of Miss Oldbuck and Mary M‘Intyre to join in chorus.” With this discourse he led the way to his dining parlour, which Lovel had not yet seen; it was wain- scotted, and contained some curious paintings. The dining table was attended by Jenny; but an old su- perintendent, a sort of female butler, stood by the side board, and underwent the burthen ot bearing several reproofs from Mr. Oldbuck, and inuendos, not so much marked, but no less cutting, from his sister. The dinner was such as suited a professed anti- quary, comprehending many savoury specimens of Scottish viands, now disused at the table of those who affect elegance. There w as the relishing Solan goose, whose smell is so powerful that he is never THE ANTIQUARY. 61 cooked within doors. Blood-raw he proved to be on this occasion, so that Oldbuck half threatened to throw the greasy seafowl at the head of the negligent housekeeper, who acted as priestess in presenting this odoriferous offering. But, by good hap, she had been most fortunate in the hotch-potch, which was unanimously pronounced to be inimitable. “ I knew we should succeed here,” said Oldbuck exultingly, “ for Davie Dibble, the gardener, (an old bachelor like myself,) takes care the rascally women did not dishonour our vegetables. And here is fish and sauce, and crappit-heads—I acknowledge our womankind excel in that dish—it procures them the pleasure of scolding, for half an hour at least, twice a week, with auld Maggy Mucklebackit, our fish-wife. The chick- en-pie, Mr. Lovel, is done after a recipe bequeathed to me by my departed grandmother of happy memo- ry—And if you will venture on a glass of wine, you will find it worthy of one who professes the maxim of King Alphonso of Castile—Old wood to burn—old books to read—old wine to drink—and old friends, Sir Arthur—Ay, Mr. Lovel, and young friends too, to converse with.” When dinner was over, and the decanters placed on the table, Mr. Oldbuck proposed the king’s health in a bumper, which was readily acceded to both by Lovel and the baronet, the jacobitism of the latter being now a sort of speculative opinion merely—the shadow of a shade. “ And what news do you bring us from Edin- burgh, Monkbarns,” said Sir Arthur, “ how wags the world in Auld Reekie?” “ Mad, Sir Arthur, mad—irretrievably frantic- far beyond dipping into the sea, shaving the crown, or drinking hellebore. The worst sort of frenzy, a military frenzy, hath possessed man, woman, and child.” “ And high time I think,” said Miss Wardour, “ when we are threatened with invasion from abroad, and insurrection at home.” 62 THE ANTIQUARY. “ O, I did not doubt you would join the scarlet host against me—women, like turkeys, are always subdued by a red rag—But what says Sir Arthur, whose dreams are of standing armies and German oppression?” “ Why, I say, Mr. Oldbuck, that, so far as I am capable of judging, we ought to resist cum toto cor- pore reg ni—as the phrase is, unless I have altogether forgotten my Latin—an enemy who comes to pro- pose to us a whiggish sort of government, a republi- can system, and who is aided and abetted by a sort of fanatics of the worst sort in our own bowels. I have taken some measures, I assure you, such as become my rank in the community; for I have directed the constables to take up that old scoundrelly beggar, Edie Ochiltree, for spreading disaffection against church and state through the whole parish. He said plainly to old Caxon, that Willie Howie’s Kilmar- nock cowl covered more sense than all the three wigs in the parish—I think it is easy to make out that in- uendo—But the rogue shall be taught better man- ners.” “ O no, my dear sir,” exclaimed Miss Wardour, “not old Edie, that we have known so long—I as- sure you no constable shall have my good graces that executes such a warrant.” “ Ay, there it goes,” said the Antiquary: “ you to be a stanch tory. Sir Arthur, have nourished a fine sprig of whiggery in your bosom—Why, Miss War- dour is alone sufficient to control a whole quarter- session—a quarter-session? ay, a general assembly or convocation to boot—a Boadicea, she—an Amazon, a Zenobia.” “ And yet, with all my courage, Mr. Oldbuck, I am glad to hear our people are getting under arms.” “ Under arms, Lord love thee! didst thou ever read the history of Sister Margaret, which flowed from a head, that, though now old and somedele gray, has more sense and political intelligence than you find now-a-days in a whole synod? Doest thou THE ANTIQUARY. 63 remember the nurse’s dream in that exquisite work, which she recounts in such agony to Hubble Bubble. When she would have taken up a piece of broadcloth in her vision, lo! it exploded like a great iron cannon. When she put out her hand to save a pirn, it perked up in her face in the form of a pistol. My own vision in Edinburgh has been something similar—I called to consult my lawyer; he was clothed in a dragoon’s dress, belted and casqued, and about to mount a charger, which his writing clerk (habited as a sharp- shooter) walked to and fro before his door—I went to scold my agent for having sent me to advise with a madman; he had stuck into his head the plume, which in more sober days he wielded between his fingers, and figured as an artillery officer. My mer- cer had his spontoon in his hand, as if he measured his cloth by that implement instead of a legitimate yard. The banker’s clerk, who was directed to sum my cash account, blundered it three times, being disordered by the recollection of his military tellings- off at the morning drill. I was ill and sent for a surgeon— AndHe came—but such a falchion valour glitter'd so bad onfired his his thigh, eye. IThat, thought by the he gods,came withto murder, such a notload to of heal. steel, I had recourse to a physician, but he also was prac- tising a more wholesale mode of slaughter than that which his profession has been supposed at all times to open to him. And now, since I have returned here, even our wise neighbours of Fairport have caught the same valiant humour. I hate a gun like a hurt wild duck—I detest a drum like a quaker; and they thunder and rattle out yonder upon the town’s common, that every volley and roll goes to my very heart.” “ Dear brother, dinna speak that gate o’ the gen- tlemen volunteers—I am sure they have a most be- coming uniform—Weel I w ot they have been wet to the very skin twice last week—I met them marching 64. THE ANTIQUARY. in, terribly drukit, and mony a sair boast was amang them—And the trouble they take claims our grati- tude.” “ And I am sure,” said Miss M‘Intyre, “ that my uncle sent twenty guineas to help out their equip- ments.” “ It was to buy liquorice and sugar candy,” said the cynic, “ to encourage the trade of the place, and to refresh the throats of the officers, who had bawled themselves hoarse in the service of their country.” “ Take care, Monkbarns; we shall set you down among the black-nebs by and by.” “ No, Sir Arthur, a tame grumbler I—I only claim the privilege of croaking in my own corner here, without uniting my throat to the grand chorus of the itiarsh-—Ni quito Rey, Ni pongo Rey—I neither make king nor mar king, as Sancho says, but pray heartily for our own sovereign, pay scot and lot, and grum- ble at the excisemen—but here comes the ewe-milk cheese in good time; it is a better digestive than politics.” After the ladies had left the apartment, the land- lord and Sir Arthur entered into several exquisite discussions, in which the younger guest, either on account of the abstruse erudition which they involv- ed, or for some other reason, took but a slender share, till at length he was suddenly started out of a profound reverie by an unexpected appeal to his judg-, ment. “ I will stand by what Mr. Lovel says; he was born in the north of England, and may know the very spot.” Sir Arthur thought it unlikely that so young a gen- tleman should have paid much attention to matters of that sort. “ I am advised of the contrary,” said Oldbuck— “ How say you, Mr. Lovel?—speak up for your own credit, man.” Lovel was obliged to confess himself in the ridicu- lous situation of one, alike ignorant of the subject of THE ANTIQUARY. 65 conversation and controversy which had engaged the company for an hour. “ Lord help the lad, his head has been wool-gath- ering! I thought how it would be when the woman- kind were admitted—no getting a word of sense out of a young fellow for six hours after. Why, man, there was once a people called the Piks”— “ More properly Piets” interrupted the baronet. “ I say the Pikar, Pihar, Piochtar, Piaghter, or Peughtar” voiciferated Oldbuck; “ they spoke a Gothic dialect” “ Genuine Celtic,” again asseverated the knight. “ Gothic! Gothic, I’ll go to death upon it!” coun- ter-asseverated the squire. “ Why, gentlemen, I conceive that is a dispute which may be easily settled by philologists, if there are any remains of the language.” “ There is but one word,” said the baronet, “‘but, in spite of Mr. Oldbuck’s pertinacity, it is decisive of the question.” “ Yes, in my favour,” said Oldbuck; “ Mr. Lovel, you shall be judge—I have the learned Pinkerton on my side.” “ I, on mine, the indefatigable and erudite Chal- mers,” “ Gordon comes into my opinion.” “ Sir Robert Sibbald holds mine.” “ Innes is with me!” vociferated Oldbuck. “ Ritson has no doubts!” shouted the baronet. “Truly, gentlemen,” said Lovel, “before you mus- ter your forces and overwhelm me with authorities, I should like to know the word in dispute.” “ Penval” said both the disputants at once. “ Which signifies caput valli” said Oldbuck. “ The head of the wall,” echoed Sir Robert. There was a deep pause. “ It is rather a narrow- foundation to build a hypothesis upon,” observed the arbiter. “ Not a whit, not a whit,” said Oldbuck; “men fight best in a narrow ring—an inch is as good as a mile for a home thrust.” 6* 66 THE ANTIQUARY. It is decidedly Celtic,” said the baronet; “ every hill in the Highlands begins with Ben.” “ But what say you to Val, Sir Arthur—is it not decidedly the Saxon ivall?” “ It is the Roman vallum” said Sir Arthur, “ the Piets borrowed that part of the word.” “ No such thing; if they borrowed any thing,-it must have been your Ben, which they might have from the neighbouring Britons of Strath Cluyd.” “ The Piks, or Piets,” said Lovel, “ must have been singularly poor in dialect, since in the only re- maining word of their vocabulary, and that consist- ing only of two syllables, they have been confessedly obliged to borrow one of them from another language; and methinks, gentlemen, with submission, the con- troversy is not unlike that which the two knights fought, concerning the shield that had one side white and the other black. Each of you claim one half of the word, and seem to resign the other. But what strikes me most, is the poverty of the language which has left so slight vestiges behind it.” “ You are in an error,” said Sir Arthur, “ it was a copious language, and they were a great and power- ful people—built two steeples; one at Brechin, one at Abernethy. The Pictish maidens of the blood- royal were kept at Edinburgh Castle, thence called Caetrum Puellarum” “ A childish legend,” said Oldbuck, “ invented to give consequence to trumpery womankind. It was called the Maiden Castle, quasi Incus a non lucendo, because it resisted every attack, and women nev- er do.” “ There is a list of the Pictish kings, well authen- ticated, from Crentheminach-cryme (the date of whose j-eign is somewhat uncertain) down to Drus- terstone, .whose death concluded their dynasty. Half of h: m have the Celtic patronymic Mac prefixed— Mac, id est.jilius—what do you say to that Mr. Old- buck: There is Drust Mackmorachin, Trynel Mac- lachlin, (first of that ancient clan, as it may be judg- THE ANTIQUARY. 67 ed,) and Gormach Macdonald, Alpin Mackmetegus, Drust Macktallargam, (here he was interrupted by a fit of coughing,) ugh,ugn,ugh—Golarge Macchan— ugh, ugh—Macchanan—Kenneth—ugh, ugh—Mac- feredith, Eachan Macfungus—and twenty more, de- cidedly Celtic names, which I could repeat if this damned cough would let me.” “Take a glass of wine, Sir Arthur,, and drink down that bead-roll of unbaptized jargon, that would choke the devil—why, that last fellow has the only intelligible name you have repeated—they are all of the tribe of Macfungus—mushroom monarchs every one of them; sprung up from the fumes of conceit, folly, and falsehood, fermenting in the brains of some mad Highland seannachie.” “ I am surprised to hear you,” Mr. Oldbuck; “ you know, or ought to know, that the list of these potentates was copied by Henry Maule of Melgum, from the Chronicles of Loch-Leven and saint An- drew, and put forth by him in his short but satisfac- tory history of the Piets, printed by Robert Free- bairne of Edinburgh, and sold by him at his shop in the Parliament close, in the year of God seventeen hundred and five, or six, I am not precisely certain which—but I have a copy at home, that stands next my twelvemo copy of the Scots’ Acts, and ranges on the shelf with them very well—What say you to that, Mr. Oldbuck?” “ I laugh at Harry Maule and his history,” an- swered Oldbuck, “ and thereby comply with his re- quest, of giving it entertainment according to its merits.” “ Do not laugh at a better man than yourself,” said Sir Arthur, somewhat scornfully. “ I do not conceive I do, Sir Arthur, in laughing either at him or his history.” “ Henry Maule of Melgium was a gentleman, Mr. “ I presume he had no advantage of me in that particular,” replied the Antiquary, somewhat tartly. 68 THE ANTIQUARY. “ Permit me, Mr. Oldbuck—he was a gentleman of high family and ancient descent, and therefore”— “ The descendant of a Westphalian printer should speak of him with deference? Such may be your opi- nion, Sir Arthur—it is not mine—I conceive that my descent from that painful and industrious typogra- pher, Wolf brand Oldenbuck, who, in the month of December, 1493, under the patronage, as the colo- phon tells us, of Sebaldus Scheyter and Sebastian Kammermaister, accomplished the printing of the great Chronicle of Nuremburgh—I conceive, I say, that my descent from that great restorer of learning is more creditable to me as a man of letters, than if I numbered in my genealogy all the brawling, bullet headed, iron-fisted, old Gothic barons since the days of Crentheminach-cryme—not one of whom, I sup- pose, could write their own name.” “ If you mean the observation as a sneer at myr ancestry,” said the knight, with an assumption of dignified superiority and composure, “ I have the pleasure to inform you, that the name of my ancestor Gamelyn de Guardover Miles, is written fairly with his own hand in the earliest copy of the Ragman- roll.” “ Which only serves to show that he was one of the earliest who set the mean example of submitting to Edward I. What have you to say for the stain- less loyalty’ of your family, Sir Arthur, after such a backsliding as that.” “ It’s enough, sir,” said Sir Arthur, starting up fiercely, and pushing back his chair, “ I shall, here- after take care how I honour with my company one who shows himself so ungrateful for my condescen- sion.” “ In that you will do as you find most agreeable. Sir Arthur; I hope, that, as I was not aware of the extent of the obligation which \7ou have done me, by visiting my poor house, I may be excused for not having carried my gratitude to the extent of servili- ty.” THE ANTIQUARY. 69 “ Mighty well—mighty well, Mr. Oldbuck—I wish you a good evening—Mr. a—a—a—Shovel-— I wish you a very good evening.” Out of the parlour door flounced the incensed Sir Arthur, as if the spirit of the whole Round Table inflamed his single bosom, and traversed with long strides the labyrinth of passages which conducted to the drawing room. “ Did you ever hear such an old tup-headed ass?” said Oldbuck, briefly apostrophizing Lovel; “ but I must not let him go in this mad-like way neither.” So saying, he pushed off after the retreating baro- net, whom he traced by the clang of several doors which he opened in search of the apartment for tea, and slammed with force behind him at every disap- pointment. “ You do yourself a mischief,” roared the Anti- quary; ombulat in tenebris nescit quo vadit— you’ll tumble down the back stair.” Sir Arthur had now got involved in darkness, of which the sedative effect is well known to nurses and governesses who have to deal with petted children. It retarded the pace of the irritated baronet, if it did not abate his resentment, and Mr. Oldbuck, better acquainted with the locale, got up with him as he had got his grasp upon the handle of the drawing-room door. “ Stay a minute, Sir Arthur,” said Oldbuck, opposing his abrupt entrance; M don’t be quite so hasty, my good old friend—I was a little too rude with you about Sir Gamelyn—why, he is an old ac- quaintance of mine, man, and a favorite—he kept company with Bruce and Wallace—and I’ll be sworn on a black-letter Bible, only subscribed the Ragman roll with the legitimate and justifiable intention of circumventing the false Southern—’twas right Scot- tish craft, my good knight—hundreds did it—come, come, forget and forgive—confess we have given the young fellow here a right to think us two testy old fools.” 70 THE ANTiqUARY. “ Speak for yourself, Mr. Jonathan Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, with much majesty. “ A well, a well, a wilful man must have his way.” With that the door opened and into the drawing- room marched the tell gaunt form of Sir Arthur, followred by Lovel and Mr. Oldbuck, the countenan- ces of all three a little discomposed. “ I have been waiting for you, sir,” said Miss Wardour,” to propose we should walk forward to meet the carriage, as the evening is so fine.” Sir Arthur readily assented to this proposal, which suited the angry mood in which he found himself; having agreeably to the established custom in cases of pet, refused the refreshment of tea and coffee, he tucked his daughter under his arm; and, after taking a ceremonious leave of the ladies, and a very dry one of Oldbuck—off he marched. “ I think Sir Arthur has got the black dog on his back again,” said Miss Oldbuck. “ Black dog!—black devil!—he’s more absurd than womankind—What say you, Lovel?—Why the lad’s gone too.” “ He took his leave, uncle, while Miss Wardour was putting on her things; but I don’t think you ob- served him.” “ The devil’s in the people. This is all one gets by fussing and bustling, and putting one’s self out of one’s way in order to give dinners, besides all the charges they are put to. O, Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia!” said he, taking a cup of tea in one hand, and a volume of the Rambler in the other, for it was his regular custom to read while he was eating or drinking in presence of his sister, and was a prac- tice which served at once to evince his contempt for the society of womankind, and his resolution to lose no moment of instruction. “ O Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia? well hast thou spoken. No man should presume to say this shall be a day of happiness.” Oldbuck proceeded in his studies for the best part of an hour, uninterrupted by the ladies, who each, THE ANTIQUARY. 71 in profound silence, pursued some female employ- ment. At length, a light and modest tap was heard at the parlour door. “ Is that you, Caxon?—come in.” The old man opened the door, and thrusting in his meagre face, thatched with thin gray locks, and one sleeve of his white coat, said, in a subdued and mysterious tone of voice, “ I was wanting to speak to you, sir “ Come in then, you old fool, and say what you have got to say.” “ I’ll may be frighten the ladies.” “ Frighten! What do you mean? never mind the ladies. Have you seen another ghaist at the Hum- lock-know?” “ Na, sir; it’s no a ghaist this turn—but I’m no easy in my mind.” “ Did you ever hear of any body that was?” an- swered Oldbuck; “ what reason has an old battered powderpuff like you to be easy in your mind more than all the rest of the world besides?” “ It’s no for mysell, sir; but it threatens an awful night; and Sir Arthur, and Miss Wardour, poor thing”—— “ Why, man, they must have met the carriage at the head of the loaning, or thereabouts; they must be home long ago.” “ Na, sir; they didna gang the road by the turn- pike to meet the carriage, they gaed by the sands.” The word operated like electricity on Oldbuck. “ The sands! impossible!” “ Ou, sir; that’s what I said to the gardener, but he says he saw them turn down by the Mussel-craig-— in troth, says I to him, an that be the case, Davie, I am misdoubting” “ An almanac! an almanac!” said Oldbuck, starting up in great alarm—“not that bauble!” flinging away a little pocket almanac which his niece offered him— “ Great God! my poor dear Miss Isabella! fetch me instantly the Fairport Almanac.” It was brought, 72 THE ANTIQUARY. consulted, and added greatly to his agitation. “ I’ll go myself—call the gardener and ploughman—bid them bring ropes and ladders—bid them raise more help as they come along—keep the top of the cliffs, and halloo down to them—I’ll go myself.” “ What is the matter?” said Miss Oldbuck and Miss M’Intyre. “ The tide! the tide!” answered the alarmed Anti- quary. “ Had not Jenny better—but no, I’ll run myself,” said the younger lady, partaking in all her uncle’s ter- rors—“ I’ll run myself to Saunders Mucklebackit, and make him get out his boat.” “ 1’hank you, my dear, that’s the wisest word that has been spoken yet—run! run! To go by the sands!” seizing his hat and cane; “ was there ever such mad- ness heard of!”

CHAPTER VII. The watery waste,Pleased a prospect awhile wildto view and new'; OnTiie either now recedingside the growingwaters gave shores them to space.trace; TillAnd smallthen, andreturning, smaller theygrows contract the walk the between. scene. The information of Davie Dibble, which had spread such general alarm at Monkbarns, proved to be strictly correct. Sir Arthur and his daughter had set out, according to their first proposal, to return to Knockwinnock by the turnpike road; but, when they reached the head of the loaning, as it was called, or great lane, which on one side made a sort of avenue to the house of Monkbarns, they discerned, a little way before them, Level, who seemed to linger on the way as if to give him an opportunity to join them. Miss Wardour immediately proposed to her father that they should take another direction; and, as the weather was fine, walk home upon the sands, which THE ANTIQUARY. which stretching below a very high ridge of rocks, af- forded at almost all times a pleasanter passage be- tween Knockwinnock and Monkbarns than the high road. Sir Arthur acquiesced willingly. It would be un- pleasant,” he said, “ to be joined by that young fellow, whom Mr. Oldbuck had taken the freedom to intro- duce them to.” And his old fashioned politeness had none of the ease of the present day, which permits you, if you have a mind, to cut the person you have associated with for a week, that instant you feel, or suppose yourself, in a situation which makes it disa- greeable to own him. Sir Arthur only stipulated, that a little ragge ' oy, for the guerdon of one penny sterling, should run to meet his coachman, and turn his equipage back to Knockwinnock. When this was arranged, and the emissary dismis- sed, the knight and his daughter left the high road, and, following a wandering path among sandy hil- locks, partly grown over with furze and the long grass called bent, soon attained the side of the ocean. The tide was by no means so far out as they had compu- ted, but this gave them no alarm: there were seldom ten days in the year when it approached so near the cliffs as not to leave a dry passage. But, nevertheless, at periods of springtide, or even when the ordinary flood was accelerated by high winds, this road was altogether covered by the sea: and tradition had re- corded several fatal accidents which had happened up- on such occasions. Still, such dangers were considered as remote and improbable; and rather served, with other legends, to amuse the hamlet fireside, than to prevent anyone from going between Knockwinnock and Monkbarns by the sands. As Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour paced along, en- joying the pleasant footing afforded by the cool, moist, hard sand. Miss Waidour could not help observing, that the last tide had risen considerably above the usual water-mark. Sir Arthur made the same obse*. vation, but without its occurring to either of thn- vol. r. 7 74 THE ANTIQUARY. to be alarmed at the circumstance. The sun was now resting his huge disk upon the edge of the level ocean, and gilded the accumulation of towering clouds, through which he had travelled the livelong day, and which now assembled on all sides like mis- fortunes and disasters around a sinking empire and falling monarch. Still, however, his dying splendour gave a sombre magnificence to the massive congrega- tion of vapours, forming out of their unsubstantial gloom the show of pyramids and towers, some touch- ed with gold, some with purple, some with a hue of deep and dark red. The distant sea, stretched be- neath this varied and gorgeous canopy, lay almost portentously still, reflecting back rfte dazzling and le- vel beams of the descending luminary, and the splen- did colouring of the clouds amidst which he was sit- ting. Nearer to the beach, the tide rippled onward in waves of sparkling silver, that imperceptibly, yet rapidly, gained upon the sand. With a mind employed in admiration of the ro- mantic scene, or perhaps upon some more agitating topic. Miss Wardour advanced in silence by her fa- ther’s side, whose recently offended dignity did not stoop to open any coversation. Following the wind- ings of the beach, they passed one projecting point or head land of rock after another, and now found them- selvs under a huge and continued extent of the pre- cipices by which that iron-bound coast is in most pla- ces defended. Long projecting reefs of rock, ex- tending under water, and only evincing their existence by here and there a peak entirely bare, or by the breakers which foamed over those that were partial- ly covered, rendered Knockwinnock bay dreaded by pilots and shipmasters. The crags which rose be- tween the beach ard the main land, to the height of two or three hundred feet, afforded in their crevices shelter for unnumbered seafovvl in situations seeming- ly secured by their dizzy height from the rapacity of we^h'■'tan. sendsMany them of these to seek wild the tribes, land beforewith thea storm instinct a- THE ANTIQUARY. 75 rises, were now winging toward their nests with the shrill and dissonant clang which announces disquie- tude and fear. The disk of the sun became almost totally obscured ere he had altogether sunk below the horizon, and an early and lurid shade of darkness blotted the serene twilight of a summer evening.— The wind began next to arise, but its wild and moan- ing sound was heard for some time, and its effects became visible on the bosom of the sea, before the gale was felt at land. The mass of waters, now dark and threatening, began to lift itself in larger ridges, and sink in deeper furrows, forming waves that rose high in foam upon the breakers, or burst upon the beach with a sound resembling distant thunder. Appalled by this sudden change of weather. Miss Wardour drew close to her fathef, and held his arm fast. “ I wish,” at length she 'said, but almost in a whisper, as if ashamed to express her increasing ap- prehensions, “ I wish we had kept the road we in- tended, or waited at Monkbarns for the carriage.’* Sir Arthur looked round, but did not see, or would not acknowledge, any signs of an immediate storm. They would reach, he said, Knockwinnock long be* fore the tempest began. But the speed with which he walked, and with which Isabella could hardly keep pace, indicated a feeling that some exertion was ne- cessary to accomplish his consolatory prediction. They were now near the centre of a deep but nar- row bay, or recess, formed by two projecting capes of high and inaccessible rocks, which shot out into the sea like the horns of a crescent; and neither durst communicate the apprehension which each began to entertain, that, from the unusually rapid advance of the tide, they might be deprived of the power of pro- ceeding by doubling the promontory which lay before them, or of retreating by the road which brought them thither. As they thus pressed forward, longing, doubtless, to exchange the easy curving line, which the sinuos- ities of the bay compelled them to adopt, for a strait- THE ANTIQUARY. er and more expeditious path, though less conform- able to the line of beauty, Sir Arthur observed a hu- man figure on the beach advancing to meet them.— “ Thank God,” he exclaimed, “ we shall get round Halket-head! that fellow must have passed it;” thus giving vent to the feeling of hope, though he had suppressed that of apprehension. “ Thank God, indeed!” echoed his daughter, half audibly, half internally, as expressing the gratitude which she really felt. The figure which advanced to meet them made many signs, which the haze of the atmosphere, now" disturbed by wnnd and by a drizzling rain, prevented them from seeing or comprehending distinctly. Some time before they met, Sir Arthur could recognise the old blue-gowned beggar, Edie Ochiltree. It is said that even the brute creation lay aside their animosi- ties and antipathies when pressed by an instant and common danger. The beach under Halket-head, rapidly diminishing in extent by the encroachments of a spring-tide and a north-west wind, was, in like manner, a neutral field, where even a justice of peace and a strolling mendicant might meet upon terms of mutual forbearance. “ Turn back! turn back!” exclaimed the vagrant, ‘‘ why did ye not turn back when I waved to you.” “ We thought,” replied Sir Arthur, in^reat agi- tation, “ we thought we could get round Halket- head.” “ Halket-head! the tide will be running on Hal- ket-head by this time like the Fall of Fyers! it was a’ I could do to get round it twenty minutes since— it was coming in three feet abreast. We will mavbe get back by Bally-burgh Ness Point yet. The Lord help us, it’s our only chance. We can but try.” “ My God, my child!” “ My father, my dear fa- ther!” exclaimed the parent and daughter, as, fear lending them strength and speed, they turned to re- trace their steps, and endeavour to double the point, the projection of which formed the southern extrem- ity of the bay. THE ANTIQUARY. 77 “ I heard ye were here, frae the bit callant ye sent to meet your carriage,,’ said the beggar, as he trud- ged stoutly on a step or two behind Miss Wardour, “ and I couldna bide to think o’ the dainty young leddy’s peril, that has aye been kind to ilka forlorn heart that cam near her. Sae I lookit at the lift and the rin o’ the tide, till I settled it that if I could get down time aneugh to gie you warning, we wad do weel yet. But I doubt, I doubt I have been beguil- ed! for what mortal e’e ever saw sic a race as the tide is rinnin’ t’en now? See, yonder’s the Ration’s Skerry—he aye held his neb abune the water in my day—but he’s aneath it now.” Sir Arthur cast a look in the direction in which the old man pointed. A huge rock, which in gene- ral, even in spring-tides, displayed a hulk like the keel of a large vessel, was now quite under water, and its place only indicated by the boiling and break- ing of the eddying waves which encountered its sub- marine resistance. ‘‘ Make haste, make haste, my bonny leddy,” con- tinued the old man, f‘ make haste and we may do yet! Take baud o’ my arm—an auld and frail arm it’s now, but it’s been in as sair stress as this is yet. Take baud o’ my arm, my winsome leddy! D’ye see yon wee black speck amang the wallowing waves yonder? ^his morning it was as high as the mast o’ a brigg—it’s sma’ aneugh now—but while I see as muckle black about it as the crown o’ my hat, I win- na believe but we’ll get round the Bally-burgh Ness for a’ that’s come and gane yet.” Isabella, in silence, accepted from the old man the assistance which Sir Arthur was less able to afford her. The waves had now so much encroached upon the beach, that the firm and smooth footing which they had hitherto had upon the sand must be ex- changed for a rougher path close to the root of the precipice, and in some places even raised upon its lower ledges. It would have been utterly impossi- ble for Sir Arthur Wardour or his daughter to have 78 THE ANTIQUARY. found their way along these shelves without the gui- dance and encouragement of a beggar, who had been there in high tides, though never, he acknowledged, “ in so awsome a night as this,” It was indeed a dreadful evening. The howling of the storm mingled with the shrieks of the seafowl, and sounded like the dirge of the three devoted be- ings, who, pent between two of the most magnifi- cent, yet most dreadful objects of nature—a raging tide and insurmountable precipice—toiled along their painful and dangerous path, often lashed by the spray of some giant billow, which threw itself higher on the beach than those that had preceded it. Each mi- nute did their enemy gain ground perceptibly upon them. Still, however loathe to relinquish the last hopes of life, they bent their eyes on the black rock point- ed out by Ochiltree. It was yet distinctly visible a- mong the breakers, and continued to be so, until they dame to a turn in their precarious path where an in- tervening projection of rock hid it from their sight. Deprivedof the view of the beacon on which they had relied, here then they experienced the double agony of terror and suspense. They struggled forward however; but, when they arrived at the point from which they ought to have seen the crag, it was no longer visible; The signal of safety was lost among a thousand white breakers; which, dashing upon the point of the promontory, rose in prodigious sheets of Snowy foam as high as the mast of a first-rate man- of-war, against the dark brow of the precipice. The countenance of the old man fell. Isabella gave a faint shriek, and, “ God have mercy upon us!” which her guide solemnly uttered, was piteously echoed byT by Sir Arthur—“ My child!—my child!—to die such a death!”— My father! my dear father!” his daughter exclaim- ed, clinging to him, “ and you, too, who have lost your own life in endeavouring to save ours!” “ That is not worth the counting,” said the old man. “ I hae lived to be weary o’ life; and here or yonder THE ANTiqUARY. 79 —at the back o’ a dyke, in a wreath o’ snaw, or in the wame o’ a wave, what signifies how the auld gaberlun- zie dies!” “ Good man,” said Sir Arthur, “ can you think of nothing? of no help? I’ll make you rich—I’ll give you a farm—I’ll” “ Our riches will be soon equa},” said the beggar, looking out upon the strife of the waters—“ they are sae already; for I have no land, and you would give your fair bounds and barony for a square yard of rock that would be dry for twal hours.” While they exchanged these words, they paused upon the highest ledge of a rock, to which they could attain; for it seemed that any further attempt to move forward could only serve to anticipate their fate. Here then they were to await the sure though slow pro- gress of the raging element, something in the situa- tion of the martyrs of the early church, who, exposed by heathen tyrants to be slain by wild beasts, were compelled for a time to witness the impatience and rage by which the animals were agitated, while a- waiting the signal for undoing their grates and let- ting them loose upon the victims. Yet even this fearful pause gave Isabella time to collect the powers of a mind naturally strong and courageous, and which rallied itself at this terrible juncture. “ Must we yield life,” she said, “ with- out a struggle? Is there no path, however dreadful, by which we could climb the crag, or at least attain some height above the tide where we could remain till morning, or till help comes? They must be aware of our situation, and will raise the country to relieve us.” Sir Arthur, who heard, but scarcely comprehend- ed, his daughter’s question, turned, nevertheless, in- stinctively and eagerly to the old man, as if their lives where in his gift. Ochiltree paused. “ I was a bauld craigsman,” he said,

CHAPTER VIII. LooksThere fearfullyis a cliff, onwhose the confinedhigh and deep;bending head AndBring I’ll me repair but to the the misery very brim thou of dost it, bear. The shout of human voices from above was soon augmented, and the gleam of torches mingled with those lights of evening which still remained amidst the darkness of the storm. Some attempt was made to hold communication between the assistants above and the sufferers beneath, who were still clinging to their precarious place of safety; but the howling of the tempests limited their intercourse to cries, as in- articulate as those of the winged denizens of the crag, which shrieked in chorus, alarmed by the reit- erated sound of human voices, where they had sel- dom been heard. On the verge of the precipice an anxious group had now assembled. Oldbuck was the foremost and most earnest, pressing forward with unwon'ed des- peration to the very brink of the crag, and extending his head (his hat and wig secured by a handker- S4 THE ANTIQUARY. chief under his chin) over the dizzy height, with an air of deternunation which made his more timorous assistants tremble. “ Hand a care, baud a care, Monkbarns,” cried Caxon, clinging to the skirts of his patron, and with- holding him from danger as far as his strength per- mitted—“ God’s sake, haud a care!—Sir Arthur’s drowned already, and an ye fa’ ower the cleugh too, there will be but ae wig left in the parish, and that’s the minister’s.” “Mind the peak there,” cried Mucklebackit, an old fisherman and smuggler—“ mind the peak—Stee- nie, Steenie Wilks, bring up the tackle—I’se warrant we’ll sune heave them on board; Monkbarns, wad ye but stand out o’ the gate.” “ I see them,” said Oldbuck, “ I see them low down on that flat stone—Hiili-hilloa, hilli-hilho-a!” “ I see them mysel weel aneugh,” said Muckle- backit, “ they are sitting down yonder like hoodie-* craws in a mist; but d’ye think you’ll help them wi’ skirling that gate like an auld skart before a flaw o’ weather?—Steenie, lad, bring up the mast—Odd, I’se hae them up as we used to bouse up the kegs o’ gin and brandy lang syne—Get up the pickax, make a step for the mast—Make the chair fast with the rattlin—haul taught and belay.” The fishers had brought with them the mast of a boat, and as half of the country fellows about had now appeared, either out of zeal or curiosity, it was soon sunk in the ground, and sufficiently secured. A yard, across the upright mast, and a rope stretched along it, and reeved through a block at each end, formed an extempore crane, which afforded the means of lowering an arm chair, well secured and fastened down to the flat shelf on which the sufferers had roosted. Their joy at hearing the preparations going on for their deliverance was considerably qua- lified, when they beheld the precarious vehicle, by means of which they were to be conveyed to upper air. It swung about a yard free of the spot which THE ANTJQUARY. 85 they occupied, obeying each impulse of the tempest, the empty air all around it, and depending upon the security of a rope, which, in the increasing darkness, had dwindled to an almost imperceptible thread. Beside the risk of committing a human being to the vacant atmosphere in such a slight means of convey- ance, there was the fearful danger of the chair and its occupant being dashed, either by the wind or the vibrations of the cord, against the rugged face of the precipice. But to diminish the risk as much as possible, the experienced seamen had let down with the chair another line, which, being attached to it, and held by the persons beneath, might serve by way of gy, as Mucklebackit expressed it, to render its as- cent in some measure steady and regular. Still, to commit one’s self in such a vehicle, through a howl- ing tempest of wind and rain, with a beetling preci- pice above, and a raging abyss below, required that courage which despair alone can inspire. Yet, wild as the sounds and sights of danger were, both above, beneath, and around, and doubtful and dangerous as the mode of escaping appeared to be, Lovel and the old mendicant agreed, after a moment’s consul- tation, and after the former, by a sudden strong pull, had, at his own imminent risk, ascertained the secu- rity of the rope, that it would be best to secure Miss Wardour in the chair, and trust to the tenderness and care of those above for her being safely craned up to the top of the crag. “ Let my father go first,” exclaimed Isabella; “ for God’s sake, my friends, place him first in safety.” “ It can not be, Miss Wardour,” said Lovel; “your life must be first secured—the rope which bears your weight may”— “ I will not listen to a reason so selfish.” “ But ye maun listen to it, my bonny lassie,” said Ochiltree, “for a’ our lives depend on it—besides, when we get on the tap o’ the heugh yonder, ye can gie them a round guess o’ what’s ganging on in this VOL. i. 8 86 THE ANTIQUARY. Patmos o’ ours—and Sir Arthur’s far by that, as I am thinking.” Struck with the truth of this reasoning, she exclaim- ed, “True, most true; I am ready and willing to un- dertake the first risk—What shall I say to our friends above?” “ Just to look that their tackle does not graze on the face o’ the craig, and to let the chair down, and draw it up hoolly and fairly—we will halloo when we are ready.” With the sedulous attention of a parent to a child, Lovel bound Miss Wardour with his handkerchief, neckcloth, and the mendicant’s leathern belt, to the back and arms of the chair, ascertaining accurately the security of each knot, while Ochiltree kept Sir Arthur quiet. “ What are ye doing wi’ my bairn? —What are ye doing?—She shall not be separated from me—Isabel, stay with me, I command you.” “ Lordsake, Sir Arthur, baud your tongue, and be thankful to God that there’s wiser folk than you to manage this job,” cried the beggar, worn out by the unreasonable exclamations of the poor baronet. “ Farewell, my father,” murmured Isabel—“ fare- well, my—my friends,” and shutting her eyes, as Edie’sexperience recommended,she gave the signal to Lovel, and he to those who were above. She rose, while the chair in which she sate was kept steady by the line which Lovel managed beneath. With a beating heart he watched the flutter of her white dress, until the vehicle was on a level with the brink of the precipice. “ Canny, now, lads, canny now!” exclaimed old Mucklebackit, who acted as commodore; “swerve the yard a bit—Now—there she sits safe on dry land!” A loud shout announced the successful experiment to her fellow sufferers beneath, who replied with a ready and cheerful halloo. Monkbarns in bis ec- stacy of joy, stripped his great coat to wrapr up the young lady, and would have pulled off his coat and THE ANTIQUARY. 87 waistcoat for the same purpose, had he not been withheld by the cautious Caxon. “ Haud a care o’ us, your honour will be killed wi’ the boast—ye’ll no get out o’ your night-cowl this fortnight—and that will suit us unco ill. Na, na—there’s the chariot down bye, let twa o’ the folk carry the young lady there.” “ You’re right, said the Antiquary, re-adjusting the sleeves and collar of his coat, “ you’re right, Caxon; this is a naughty night to swim in—Miss Wardour, let me convey you to the chariot.” “ Not for the worlds, till I see my lather safe.” In a few distinct words, evincing how much her resolution had surmounted even the mortal fear of so agitating a hazard, she explained the nature of the situation beneath, and the wishes of Lovel and Ochiltree. “ Right, right, that’s right too—I should like to see the son of Sir Gamelyn de Guardover on dry land myself—I have a notion he would sign the ab- juration oath, and the ragman-roll to boot, and ac- knowledge Queen Mary to be nothing better than she should be, to get alongside my bottle of old port that he ran away from and left scarce begun—But he’s safe now, and here a comes—(for the chair was again lowered, and Sir Arthur made fast in it, with- out much consciousness on his own part)—here a comes—rouse away, my boys—canny wi’ him—a pedigree of a hundred links is hanging on a tenpen- ny tow—the whole barony of Knockwinnock depends on three plies of hemp—respice finem, respice funem —look to your cnd—look to a rope’s end. Welcome, welcome, my good old friend, to firm land, though I can not say to warm land or to dry land; a cord for ever against fifty fathom of water, though not in the sense of the base proverb—a fico for the phrase— better sus. per funem, than sus. per coll” While Oldbuck ran on in this way, Sir Arthur was safely wrapped in the close embraces of his daughter, who, assuming that authority which the THE ANTIQUARY. circumstances demanded, ordered some of the as* sistants to convey him to the chariot, promising to follow in a few minutes. She lingered on the cliff, holding an old countryman’s arm, to witness probably the safety of those whose dangers she had shared. “ What have we here?” said Oldbuck, as the ve- hicle once more ascended, “ What patched and wea- therbeaten matter is this?” then, as the torches illu- mined the rough face and gray hairs of old Ochiltree —“ What! is it thou? come, old mocker, I must needs befriends with thee—but who the devil makes up your party besides?” “ Ane that’s weel worth ony twa o’ us, Monkbarns —it’s the young stranger lad they ca’ Level—and he’s behaved, this blessed night, as if he had three lives to rely on, and was willing to waste them a’ ra- ther than endanger ither folks—Ca’ hooly, sirs, as ye wad win an old man’s blessing! mind there’s naebo- dy below now to baud the gy—Hae a care o’ the Cat’s-lug-corner—bide weel aff Crummie’s horn!” “ Have a care, indeed,” echoed Oldbuck, “ What! is it my rara avis—my black swan—my phoenix of companions in a post-chaise?—take care of him, Mucklebackit.” “ As meikle care as if he were a graybeard o’ brandy; and I canna take mair if his hair were like John Harlowe’s—Yo, ho, my hearts, bowse away with him!” Lovel did, in fact, run a much greater risk than any of his precursors. His weight was not sufficient to render his ascent steady amid such a storm of wind, and he swung like an agitated pendulum, at the mortal risk of being dashed against the rocks. But he was young, bold and active, and, with the assistance of the beggar’s stout piked staff, which he had retained by advice of the proprietor, contrived to bear himself from the face of the precipice, and the yet more hazardous projecting cliffs which vari- ed its surface. Tossed in empty space, like an idle and unsubstantial feather, with a motion that agita- THE ANTIQUARY. 89 ted the brain at once with fear and with dizziness, he retained his alertness of exertion and presence of mind; and it was not until he was safely grounded upon the summit of the cliff, that he felt temporary and giddy sickness. As he recovered from a sort of half swoon, he cast his eyes eagerly around. The object which they would most willingly have sought was already in the act of vanishing. Her white gar- ment was just discernible as she followed on the path which her father had taken. She had lingered till she saw the last of their company rescued from dan- ger, and until she had been assured, by the coarse voice of Mucklebackit, that “ the callant had come off wi’ unbrizzed banes, and that he was but in a kind of dwam.” But Lovel was not aware that she had expressed in his fate even this degree of interest, which, though nothing more than was due to a stran- ger who had assisted her in such an hour of peril, he would have gladly purchased by braving even more imminent danger than he had that evening been exposed to. The beggar she had already command- ed to come to Knockwinnock that night. He made an excuse—“ Then, to morrow let me see you.” The old man promised to obey. Oldbuck thrust something into his hand—Ochiltree looked at it by the torch-light, and returned it—uNa, na! I never take gowd—besides, Monkbarns, ye wad maybe be rue- ing it the morn;” then turning to the group of fish- ermen and peasants—■“ Now, sirs, whae will gie me a supper and some clean pease-strae?” “ I,” “ and I,” “ and 1, answered many a ready voice. “ Aweel, since sae it is, and I can only sleep in ae barn at ance. I’ll gae down wi’ Saunders Muckle- backit—he has aye a stoup o’ something comfortable about his bigging—and, bairns, I’ll maybe live to put ilka ane o’ ye in mind some ither night that ye hae promised me quarters and my awmous;” and away he went with the fisherman. Oldbuck laid the hand of strong possession on 8* 90 THE ANTIQUARY* Level—“ De’l astride ye’s goto Fairpott this night, young man—you must go home with me to Monk- barns.—Why, man, you have been a here—a perfect Sir William Wallace, by all accounts. Come, my good lad, take hold of my arm—I am not a prime support in such a wind—but Caxon shall help us out —Here, you old idiot, come on the other side of me —And how the de’l got you down to that infernal Bessie’s-apron, as they called it? Bess, said they— why, curse her, she has spread out that vile pennon or banner of woman kind, like all the rest of her sex, to allure her votaries to death and headlong ruin.” “ I have been pretty well accustomed to climbing, and I have long observed fowlers practise that pass down the cliff.” “ But how, in the name of all that is wonderful, came you to discover the danger of the petted baro- net and his far more deserving daughter?” “ I saw them from the verge of the precipice.” “ From the verge!—umph---And what possessed you, dumosapendereproculde rupe?—though dumosa is not the appropriate epithet—What the de’l, man, tempted ye to the verge of the crag!” “ Why—I like to see the gathering and growling of a coming storm—or, in your own classical lan- guage, Mr. Oldbuck, suave est mart ?na§7io--and so forth—but here we reach the turn to Fairport. I must wish you good night.” “ Not a step, not a pace, not an inch, not a shath- mont, as I may say; the meaning of which word has puzzled many that think themselves antiquaries. I am clear we should read salmon-length for shath- mont's length. You are aware that the space allotted for the passage of a salmon through a dam, dike, or wier, by statute, is the length within which a full- grown pig can turn himself round—now, I have a scheme to prove, that, as terrestrial objects were thus appealed to for ascertaining submarine measure- ment, so it must be supposed that the productions of the water were established as gages of the extent of THE ANTIQtfARY. 91 land. Shathmont—salmont--you see the close al- liance of the sounds; dropping out two h’s and a t, and assuming an /, makes the whole difference—I wish to Heaven no antiquarian derivation had de- manded heavier concessions.” “ But, my dear sir, I really must go home—-I am wet to the skin.” Shalt have my night-gown, man, and slippers, and catch the antiquarian fever as men do the plague, by wearing the infected garments-—nay, I know what you would be at—you are afraid to put the old bach- elor to charges. But is there not the remains of that glorious chicken-pie—which meo arbitrio, is better cold than hot—and that bottle of my oldest port, out of which the silly brain-sick baronet £whom I can not pardon, since he has escaped breaking his neck) had just taken one glass, when his infirm noddle went to a wool-gathering after Gamelyn de Guard- over?” So saying, he dragged Lovel forwards, till the Palmer’s port of Monkbarns received them. Never, perhaps, had it admitted two pedestrians more need- ing rest, for Monkbarns’s fatigue had been in a de- gree very contrary to his usual habits, and his more young and robust companion had that evening un- dergone agitation of mind which had harassed and wearied him even more than his extraordinary exer- tions of body. 92 THE ANTIQUARY. CHAPTER IX. “ Be brave,” she cried, “you yet may be our guests. OurIf, then, haunted your room valour was can ever the heldfight the sustain best; IfOf your rustling courageous curtains, tongue and the have clinking powers chain! to talk, IfWhen you dareround ask your it why bed itthe leaves horrid its ghosttomb. shall walk; I’ll see your sheets well air’d, and show the room.”True Storft. They reached the room in which they had dined, and were clamorously welcomed by Miss Oldbuck. “ Where’s the younger womankind?” said the Antiquary. “ Indeed, brother, amang a’ the steery, Maria wadna be guided by me—she set away to the Hal- ket-craig head—I wonder ye didna see her.” “Eh!—what—what’s that you say, sister?—did the girl go out in a night like this to the Halket- head?—Good God! the misery of the night is not ended yet!” “ But ye winna wait, Monkbarns--ye are so im* perative and impatient” “ Tittle-tattle woman,” said the impatient and agi- tated Antiquary, “where is my dear Mary?” “Just where ye suld be yoursel, Monkbams—up stairs, and in her warm bed.” “ I could have sworn it,” said Oldbuck, laughing, hut obviously much relieved, “ I could have sworn it—the lazy monkey did not care if we were all drowned together—Why did you say she went out?” “ But ye wadna wait to hear out my tale. Monk- barns—she gaed out, and she came in again with the gardener sae sune as she saw that nane o’ ye were clodded owerthe craig, and that Miss Wardourwas safe in the chariot—she was hame a quarter of an hour, syne, for it’s now ganging ten—sair droukit was she, poor thing, sae I e’en put a glass o’ sherry in her water-gruel.” THE ANTIQUARY. 93 “ Right, Grizel, right—let womankind alone for coddling each other. But hear ye, my venerable sister—Start not at the word venerable; it implies many praiseworthy qualities beside age; though that too is honourable, albeit it is the last quality for which womankind would wish to be honoured—But perpend my words; let Lovel and I have forthwith the reliques of the chicken-pie, and a reversion of the port.” “ The chicken-pie—the port—ou dear! brother— there was but a whin banes, and scarce a drap o’ the wine.” The Antiquary’s countenance became clouded, though he was too well bred to give way, in the pre- sence of a stranger, to his displeased surprise at the disappearance of the viands, on which he had reckon- ed with absolute certainty. But his sister understood these looks of ire. “ Ou dear! Monkbarns, what’s the use of making a wark?” “ I make no wark, as you call it, woman.” “ But what’s the use o’ looking sae glum and glunch about a pickle banes?—an ye will hae the truth, ye maun ken the minister came in, worthy man—sair distressed he was, nae doubt, about your precarious situation, as he ca’d it, (for ye ken how weel he’s gifted wi’ words,) and here he wad bide till he could hear wi’ certainty how the matter was likely to gang wi’ ye a’—He said fine things on the duty of resignation to Providence’s will, worthy man! that did he.” Oldbuck replied, catching the same tone, “ Wor- thy man!—he cared not how soon Monkbarns had devolved on an heir female, I’ve anotion—and while he was occupied in this Christian office of consola- tion against impending evil, I reckon that the chick- en-pie and my good port disappeared?” ties,“ Dearwhen brother, you have how had can sicyou^speak an escape o’ sicfrom frivoli- the craig?” “ Better than my supper has had frae the minis- ter’s craig, Grizzie—it’s all discussed, I suppose?” 94 THE ANTiqUART. “ Hout, Monkbarns, ye speak as if there was nae xnair meat in the house—wad ye not have had me offer the honest man some slight refreshment after his walk frae the manse?” Oldbuck half whistled, half -hummed, the end of the old Scottish ditty, O, Andfirst thenthey theyeated eated the white the black, puddings, O, AndThe thought de’il clink the gudemandown wi* untothat, himsell.O. His sister hastened to silence his murmurs, by proposing,some of the reliques of the dinner. He spoke of another bottle of wine, but recommended in preference a glass of brandy, which was really ex- cellent. As no entreaties could prevail on Lovel to indue the velvet night cap and branched morning- gown of his host, Oldbuck, who pretended to a little knowledge of the medical art, insisted on his going to bed as soon as possible, and proposed to despatch a messenger (the indefatigable Caxon) to Fairport early in the morning, to procure him a change of clothes. This was the first intimation Miss Oldbuck had received that the young stranger was to be their guest for the night; and such was the surprise with which she was struck by a proposal so uncommon, that, had the superincumbent weight of her head-dress, such as we before described, been less preponderant, her gray locks must have started up on end, and hurl’d it from its position. “ Lord haud a care o’ us!” exclaimed the astound- ed maiden. “ What’s the matter now, Grizel?” “ Wad ye but just speak a moment, Monkbams?” £c Speak!—What should I speak about?—I want to get to my bed—-and this poor young fellovv---let a bed be made ready for him instantly.” “ A bed?--The Lord preserve us,” again ejacula- ted Grizel. “ Why, what’s the matter now? are there not beds THE ANTIQUARY. 95 and rooms enough in the house? Was it not an an- cient hospitium, in which I am warranted to say, beds were nightly made down for a score of pil- grims?” “ O, dear Monkbarns! wha’ kens what they might do lang syne?—but in our time—beds—ay, troth there’s beds enow, sic as they are—and rooms enow too—but ye ken yoursel the beds hae nae been sleep- it in, Lord kens the time, nor the rooms aired. If I had kend, Mary and me might hae gane down to the manse—Miss Beckie is aye fond to see us, (and sae is the minister, brother)—but now, gude safe us!” “ Is there not the Green Room, Grizel?” “ Troth is there, and it is in decent order too, though naebody has slept there since Dr. Heavystern, and”— “ And what?” “ And what! I’m sure ye ken yoursel what a night he had—ye wadna expose the 5 oung gentleman to the like o’ that, wad ye?” Lovel interfered upon hearing this altercation, and protested he would far rather walk home than put them to the least inconvenience—that the exercise would be of service to him—that he knew the road perfectly, by night or day, to Fairport—that the storm was abating, and so forth; adding all that civility could suggest as an excuse for escaping from a hos- pitality which seemed more inconvenient to his host than he could possibly have anticipated. But the howling of the wind, and pattering of the rain against the windows, with his knowledge of the preceding fatigues of the evening, must have pro- hibited Oldbuck, even had he entertained less re- gard for his young friend than he really felt, from permitting him to depart. Besides, he was piqued in honour to show that he himself was not governed by womankind—u Sit ye down, sit ye down, sit ye down, man,” he reiterated; “ an ye part so, I would I might never draw a cork again, and here comes THE ANTIQUARY. out one from a prime bottle of—strong ale—tight anno do mini—none of your Wassia Quassia decoc- tions, but brewed of Monkbams barley—John of the Girnel never drew a better flagon to entertain a wan- dering minstrel, or palmer, with the freshest news from Palestine. And to remove from your mind the slightest wish to depart, know, that if you do so, your character as a gallant knight is gone for ever— Why, ’tis an adventure, man, to sleep in the Green Room at Monkbarns—Sister, pray see it got ready— And, although the bold adventurer, Heavystern, dreed pain and dolour in that charmed apartment, it is no reason why a gallant knight like you, nearly twice as tall, and not half so heavy, should not en- counter and break the spell.” “ What, a haunted apartment, I suppose?” “ To be sure, to be sure—every mansion in this country of the slightest antiquity has its ghosts and its haunted chamber, and you must not suppose us worse off than our neighbours. They are going, in- deed somewhat out of fashion. I have seen the day when, if you had doubted the reality of the ghost in an old manor-house, you run the risk of being made a ghost yourself, as Hamlet says-—Yes, if you had challenged the existence of Redcowl in the castle of Glenstirym, old Sir Peter Pepperbrand would have had ye out to his court-yard, made you betake your- self to your weapon, and if your trick of fence were not the better, would have sticked you like a pad- dock, on his own baronial middenstead. I once nar- rowly escaped such an affray—But I humbled my- self, and apologized to Redcowl; for, even in my younger days, I was no friend to the monomachia, or duel, and would rather walk with Sir Priest than Sir Knight, I care not who knows so much of my va- lour—thank God I am old now, and can indulge my irritabilities without the necessity of supporting of them with cold steel.” Here Miss Oldbuck re-entered with a singularly sage expression of countenance. “ Mr. Level’s bed’s THE ANTIQUARY. 97 ready, brother—clean sheets—well air’d—a spunk of fire in the chimney—I am sure, Mr. Lovel, (address- ing him,) it’s no for the trouble—and I hope you will have a good night’s rest—But”' “ You are resolved to do what you can to prevent it.” “ Me?—I am sure I have said naething, Monk- barns.” “ My dear madam,” said Lovel, “ allow me to ask you the meaning of your obliging anxiety on my ac- count?” “ Ou, Monkbarns does not like to hear of it—but he kens himsel that the room has an ill name—its weel minded that it was there auld Rab Tull, the town clerk, was sleeping when he had that marvel- lous communication about the grand law plea be- tween us and the fenars at the Mussel craig. It had cost a hantle siller, Mr. Lovel; for law-pleas were no carried on without siller lang syne mair than they are now—and the Monkbarns of that day—our gude- sire, Mr. Lovel, as I said before—was like to be waured afore the session for want of a paper— Monkbams there kens weel what paper it was, but I’se warrant he’ll no help me out wi’ my tale—but it was a paper of great significance to the plea, and we were to be waured for want o’t. A weel the cause was to come on before the fifteen—in pre- sence, as they ca’t—and auld Rab Tull, the town clerk, he cam ower to make a last search for the pa- per than was wanting, before our gudesire gaed into Edinburgh to look after his plea—so there was little time to come and gang on--He was but a doited snuffy body, Rab, as I’ve heard—But then he was the town clerk of Fairport, and the Monkbarns heri- tors aye employed him in their law business to keep up their connexion wi’ the burgh, ye ken.” Oldbuck;“ Sister “Grizel, I vow thisto Heaven is abominable,” ye might haveinterrupted raised the hosts of every abbot of Trotcosey since the days of Waldimir, in the time you have been detailing the VOL. i. 9 98 THE ANTIQUARY. introduction to this single spectre—Learn to be suc- cinct in your narrative—Imitate the concise style of old Aubrey, an experienced ghost seer, who entered his memoranda on these subjects in a terse business- like manner, exempli gratia—At Cirencester, 5th March, 1670, was an apparition—Being demanded whether good spirit or bad, made no answer, but in- stantly disappeared with a curious perfume, and a melodious twang.” Vide his Miscellanies, p. eigh- teen, as well as I can remember, and near the mid- dle of the page.” “ O, Monkbarns, man! do ye think every body as book-learned as yourself—but ye like to gar folk look like fools—-ye can do that to Sir Arthur, and the minister his very sell.” “ Nature has been beforehand with me, Grizel, in both these instances, and in another which shall be nameless; but take a glass of ale, Grizel, and pro- ceed with your story, for it waxes late.” “ Jenny’s just warming your bed, Monkbarns, and ye maun e’en wait till she’s done. Weel, I was at the search that our gude sire, Monkbarns that then was, made wi’ auld Rab Tull’s assistance: but ne’er be lickit could they find that was to their purpose. And sae after they had touzed out mony a leather poke full o’ papers, the town clerk had his drap punch at e’en to wash the dust out of his throat—we never were glass-breakers in this house, Mr. Lovel —but the bodie had got sic a trick of sippling and tippling wi’ the baillies and deacons, when they met, (which was amaist ilka night) concerning the com- mon gude o’ the burgh, that he couldna weel sleep without it—-But his punch he gat, and to bed he gaed -—and in the middle of the night he gat a fearfu’ wakening!—he was never just himsel after it, and he was strucken wi’ the dead palsy that very day four years—He thought, Mr. Lovel, that he heard the curtains o’ his bed fissil, and out he lookit, fan- cying, puir man, it might have been the cat-—But he saw—God hae a care o’ us, it gars my flesh aye THE ANTIQUARY. 99- creep, though I hae told the story twenty times—he saw a weel-fa’ard auld gentleman standing by his bed-side, in the moonlight, in a queer-fashioned dress, wi’ mony a button and a band-string about it, and that part o’ his garments, which it does not be- come a leddy to particulareeze, was baith side and wide, and as mony pile o’t as of ony Hamburgh skipper’s —He had a beard too and whiskers turned upwards on his upper lip, as lang as Baudrons’s—- and mony mair particulars there were that Rab Tull tauld o’, but they are forgotten now—it is an auld story—Aweel, Rab was a just living man for a coun- try writer-—and he was less fear’d than maybe might just hae been expected—and he asked in the name o’ goodness what the apparition wanted—and the spirit answered in an unknown tongue. Then Rab said he tried him wi’ Erse, for he cam in his youth frae the Braes of Glenlivat—but it wadna do— Aweel, in this strait, he bethought him of the twa or three words o’ Latin that he used in making out the town’s deeds, and he had nae sooner tried the spirit wi’ that, than out cam sic a blatter o’ Latin about his lugs, that poor Rab Tull, wha was nae great scholar, was clean overwhelmed. Odd, but he was a bauld body, and he minded the Latin name for the deed that he was wanting. It was something about a cart, I fancy, for the ghaist cried ay, Carter, carter" “ Carta, you transformer of languages,” cried Oldbuck; “ if my ancestor had learned no other language in the other world, at least he would not forget the Latinity for which he was so famous while in this.” “ Weel, weel, carta be it then, but they ca’d it car- ter that tell’d me the story—It cried aye carta if sae be that it was carta, and made a sign to Rab to follow it. Rab Tull keepit a highland heart, and bang’d out o’ bed, and till some o’ his readiest claes —and he did follow the thing up stairs and down stairs to the place we ca’ the high dow-cot, (a sort 100 THE ANTIQUARY. of little tower in the corner of the auldhouse, where there was a rickle o’ useless boxes and trunks,) and there the ghaist gae Rab a kick wi’ the tae foot, and a kick wi’ the tother, to that very auld east country tabernacle of a cabinet that my brother has standing beside his library table, and then disappeared like a fuff o’ tobacco, leaving Rab in a very pitiful condi- tion.” “ Tenues secessit in auras,” quoth Oldbuck, “ Mar- ry, sir, mansit odor—But, sure enough, the deed was there found in a drawer of this forgotten repository, which contained many other curious old papers, now properly labelled and arranged, and which seem to have belonged to my ancestor, the first possessor of Monkbarns. The deed, thus strangely recovered, was the original Charter of Erection of the Abbey, Abbey l ands, and so forth, of Trotcosey, compre- hending Monkbams and others into a Lordship of Regality in favour of the first Earl of Glengibber, a favourite of James the Sixth. It is subscribed by the king at Westminster, the seventeenth day of January, A. D. one thousand six hundred and twelve—thir- teen. It’s not worth while to repeat the witnesses’ names.” “ I would rather,” said Level, with awakened curiosity, “ I would rather hear your opinion of the way in which the deed was discovered.” “ Why, if I wanted a patron for my legend, I could find no less a one than Saint Augustin, who tells the story of a deceased person appearing to his son, when sued for a debt which had been paid, and directing him where to find the discharge. But I rather opine with Lord Bacon, who says that ima- gination is much akin to miracle-working faith.— There was always some idle story of the room being haunted by the spirit of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, my great great great grandfather—it’s a shame to the English language that we have not a less clumsy way of expressing a relationship, of which we have occasion to think and speak so frequently—he was a THE ANTIQUARY. 101 foreigner, and wore his national dress, of which tra- dition had preserved an accurate description; and indeed there is a print of him, supposed to be by- Reginald Elstracke, pulling the press with his own hand, as it works off the sheets of his scarce edition of the Augsburgh Confession. He was a chemist as well as a good mechanic, and either of these qua- lities in this country was at that time sufficient to constitute a white witch at least. This superstitious old writer had heard all this, and probably believed it, and in his sleep the image and idea of my ances- tor recalled that of his cabinet, which, with the grate- ful attention to antiquities, and the memory of our ancestors, not unusually met with, had been pushed into the pigeon-house to be out of the way—Add a quantum sufficit of exaggeration, and you have a key to the whole mystery.” “ Oh, brother, brother! But Dr. Heavystern, bro- ther—whose sleep was so sore broken that he de- clared he wadna pass another night in ‘he Green Room to get all Monkbarns, so that iNiary and I were forced to yield our” “ Why, Grizel, the doctor is a good, honest, pud- ding-headed German, of much merit in his own way, but fond of the mystical, like many of his country- men. You and he had a traffic the whole evening, in which you received tales of Mesmer, Schropfer, Cagliostro, and other modern pretenders to the mys- tery of raising spirits, discovering hidden treasure, and so forth, in exchange for your legends of the green bed-chamber—and considering that the Illus- trissimus ate a pound and a half of Scotch collops to supper, smoked six pipes, and drank ale and brandy in proportion, I am not surprised at his having a fit of the night-mare—But every thing is now ready. Permit me to light you to your apartment, Mr. Le- vel—I am sure you have need of rest—and I trust my ancestor is too sensible of the duties of hospital- ity, to interfere with the repose which you have so well merited by your manly and gallant behaviour.” 102 THE ANTiqUAftt, So saying, the Antiquary took up a bed-room can- dlestick of massive silver and antique form, which, he observed, was wrought out of the silver found in the mines of the Harz mountains, and had been the property of the very personage who had supplied them with a subject for conversation. And, having so said, he led the way through many a dusky and winding passage, now ascending and anon descend- ing again, until he came to the apartment destined for his young guest.

CHAPTER X. ■When midnight o’er the moonless skiea HerWhen pall mortals of transient sleep, deathwhen hasspectors spread. rise. jfoAnd bloodless none are shape wakeful my butway the pursues* dead; NoYjsions sheeted more ghost sad mymy fancycouch views,— annoys, Visions of long departed joys. W.R. Spentet - When they reached the Green Room, as it was called, Oldbuck placed the candle on the toilet table, before a huge mirror with a black japanned frame, surrounded by dressing boxes of the same, and look* ed around him with something of a disturbed ex- pression of countenance. “ I am seldom in this apartment,” he said, “ and never without yielding to a melancholy feeling—not, of course, on account of the childish nonsense that Grizel was telling you, but owing to circumstances of an early and unhappy attachment. It is at such moments as these, Mr. Lo- vel, that we feel the changes of time. The same objects are before us—those inanimate things which we have gazed on in wayward infancy and impetu- ous youth, in anxious and scheming manhood—they are permanent and the same; but when we look up- on them in cold, unfeeling old age, can we, changed i.n our temper, our pursuits, our feelings—changed XHt: ArfTiqUARY. 103 in our form, our limbs, and our strength—can we be ourselves called the samei1 or do we not rather look back with a sort of wonder upon our former selves, as beings separate and distinct from what we now are? The philosopher, who appealed from Philip in- flamed with wine, to Philip in his hours of sobriety, did not choose a judge so different, as if he had ap- pealed from Philip in his youth to Philip in his old age. I can not but be touched with the feeling so beautifully expressed in a poem which I have heard repeated!”* MyMy eyes heart are isdim idly with stirr’d. childish tears, ForWhich the same in these sound days is in 1 myheard. ears ThusAnd fares yet theit still wiser in our mind decay; MournsThan lesswhat for he what leaves time behind. takes away. Well, time cures every wound, and though the scar may remain and occasionally ache, yet the earliest agony of its recent infliction is felt no more.” So saying, he shook Lovel cordially by the hand, wish- ed him good night, and took his leave. Step after step Lovel could trace his host’s retreat along the various passages, and each door which he closed behind him fell with a sound more distant and dead. The guest, thus separated from the living world, took up the candle and surveyed the apart- ment. The fire blazed cheerfully. Mrs. Grizel’s attention had left some fresh wood, should he choose to continue it, and the apartment had a comfortable, though not a lively, appearance. It was hung with tapestry, which the looms of Arras had produced in the sixteenth century, and which the learned typo- grapher, so often mentioned, had brought with hi in as a sample of the arts of the continent. The sub- ject was a hunting piece; and as the leafy boughs of BOblishpd♦Probably Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads had not as yetv beenvv 104 THE ANTIQUARY. the forest-trees, branching over the tapestry, formed the predominant colour, the apartment had thence acquired its name of the green chamber. Grim fig- ures, in the old Flemish dress, with slashed doublets, covered with ribands, short cloaks, and trunk hose, were engaged in holding greyhounds or stag-hounds in the leash, or cheering them upon the objects of their game. Others, with boar spears, swords, and old fashioned guns, were attacking stags or bears whom they had brought to bay. The branches of the woven forest were crowded with fowls of various kinds, each depicted with its proper plumage. It seemed as if the prolific and rich invention ol old Chaucer had animated the Flemish artist with its profusion, and Oldbuck had accordingly caused the following verses, from that ancient and excellent po- et, to be embroidered, in Gothic letters, on a sort of border which he had added to the tapestry:— Lo! here be oakis grete, straight as a lime. Be’thUnder newly the sprung—atwhich the grass,eight footso fresh or nine. of line, WithEverich branches tree broadwell from laden his with fellow leaves grew, new, ThatSome sprongen golden red, out and against some the a glad sonne bright sheene, green. And in another canton was the following similar le- gend: WasAnd manyboth beforean hart, me and and many behind. an hind. OfWas fawns, full thesownders, wood, andbucks, many and roes. does, AndHigh manyon the squirrells trees and that nuts ysate ate. The bed was of dark and faded green, wrought to correspond with the tapestry, but by a more modern and less skilful hand. The large and heavy stuff- bottomed chairs, with black ebony backs, were em- broidered upon the same pattern, and a lofty mirror, over the antique chimney-pitce, corresponded in its mounting with that on the old-fashioned toilet. THE ANTiqUARY. 105 “ I have heard,” thought Level, as he took a cur- sory view of the room and its furniture, “ that ghosts often chose the best room in the mansion, to which they attached themselves, and I can not disapprove of the taste of the disembodied printer of the Augs- burg Confession.” But he found it so difficult to fix his mind upon the stories which had been told of an apartment, with which they seemed so singularly to correspond, that he almost regretted the absence of those agitated feelings, half fear, half curiosity, which sympathize with the old legends of awe and wonder, from which the anxious reality of his own hopeless passion at present detached him. Ah!The cruel temper maid, of how my hastmind! thou changed MyBecomes, heart, by like thee thee, from unkind. all estranged, He endeavoured to conjure up something like the emotions which would, at another time, have been congenial to his situation, but his heart had no room for these vagaries of imagination. The recollection of Miss Wardour, determined not to acknowledge him when compelled to endure his society, and evin- cing her purpose to escape from it, would have alone occupied his imagination exclusively. But with this were united recollections more agitating, if less pain- ful—her hairbreadth escape—the fortunate assistance which he had been able to render her—Yet, what was his requital?—She left the cliff while his late was yet doubtful—while it was uncertain whether her preserver had not lost the life which he had exposed for her so freely. Surely gratitude, at least, called for some little interest in his fate—But no—she could not be selfish or unjust—it was no part of her nature. She only desired to shut the door against hope, and, even in compassion to him, to extinguish a passion which she could never return. But this lover-like mode of reasoning was not like- ly to rec' ncile him to his fate, since the more amia- 106 THE ANTIQUARY. ble his imagination presented Miss Wardour, the more inconsolable he felt he should be rendered by the extinction of his hopes. He was, indeed, con- scious of possessing the powers of removing her pre- judices on some points; but, even in extremity, he de~ termined to keep the original determination which he had formed, of ascertaining that she desired an ex- planation ere he intruded one upon her. And turn the matter as he would, he could not regard his suit as desperate. There was something of embarrass- ment as well as of grave surprise in her look when Oldbuck presented him, and, perhaps, upon second thoughts, the one was assumed to cover the other. He would not relinquish a pursuit which had already cost him such pains. Plans, suiting the romantic tem- per of the brain that entertained them, chased each other through his head, thick and irregular as the motes in the sun-beam, and, long after he had laid himself to rest, continued to prevent the repose which he greatly needed. Then, wearied by the uncertain- ty and difficulties with which each scheme appeared to be attended, he bent up his mind to the strong ef- fort of shaking off his love “like dew-drops from the lion’s mane,” and resuming those studies and that career of life which his unrequited affection had so long and so fruitlessly interrupted. In this last resolution, he endeavoured to fortify himself by ev- ery argument which pride, as well as reason, could suggest. “ She shall not suppose,” he said, “ that, presuming on an accidental service to her or to her father, I am desirous to intrude myself upon that no- tice, to which, personally, she considered me as hav- ing no title. I will see her no more. I will turn to the land which, if it affords none fairer, has at least many as fair, and less haughty than Miss Wardour. To-morrow I will bid adieu to these northern shores, and to her who is as cold and relentless as het1 cli- mate.” When he had for some time brooded over his sturdy resolution, exhausted nature at length gave way, and, despite of wrath, doubt, and anxiety, he sunk into slumber. THE ANTIQUARY. 107 It is seldom that sleep, after such violent agitation, is either sound or refreshing. Level’s was disturb- ed by a thousand baseless and confused visions. He was a bird—he was a fish—or he flew like the one, and swam like the other, qualities which would have been very essential to his safety a few hours before. Then Miss Wardour was a syren, or ainrd of Para- dise; her father a triton, or seagull; and Oldbuck alternately a porpoise and a cormorant. These a- greeable imaginations were varied by all the usual vagaries of a feverish dream; the air refused to bear the visionary, the water seemed to burn him—the rocks felt like down-pillows as he was dashed against them—whatever he undertook failed in some strange and unexpected manner—and whatever attracted his attention, underwent, as he attempted to in\ estigate it, some wild and wonderful metamorphosis, while his mind continued all the while in some degree con- scious of the delusion, from which it in vain strug- gled to free itself by waking—feverish symptoms all, w ith which those who are haunted by the night hag, whom the learned call Ephialtes, are button well ac- quainted. At length these crude phantasmata ar- ranged themselves into something more regular, if in- deed the imagination of Lovel, after he awoke, (Tor it was by no means the faculty in which his mind was least rich,) did not gradually, insensibly, and unintentionally, arrange in better order the scene, of which his sleep presented, it may be, a less distinct outline. Or it is possible that his feverish agitation may have assisted him in forming the vision. Leaving this discussion to the learned, we will say, that after a succession of wild images, such as we have above described, our hero, for such we must acknowledge him, so far regained a consciousness of locality as to remember where he was, and the whole furniture of the green chamber was depicted to his slumbering eye. And here, once more, let me pro- test that if there should be so much old fashioned faith left among this shrewd and sceptical generation. 108 THE ANTIQUARt. as to suppose that what follows was an impression conveyed rather by the eye than by the imagiation, I do not impugn their doctrine. He was, then, or im- agined himself, broad awake in the green chamber, gazing upon the flickering and occasional flame which the unconsumed remnants of the faggots sent forth, as one by one, they fell down upon the red embers, into which the principal part of the boughs to which they belonged had crumbled away. Insensibly the legend of Aldcbrand Oldenbuck, and his mysterious visits to the inmates of the chamber, awoke in his mind, and with it as we often feel in dreams, an anx- ious and fearful expectation, which seldom fails in- stantly to summon up before our mind’s eye the ob- ject of our fear. Brighter sparkles of light flashed from the chimney with such intense brilliancy, as to enlighten all the room. The tapestry waved wildly on the wall, till its dusky forms seemed to become an- imated. The hunters blew their horns—the stag seemed to fly, the boar to resist, and the hounds to assail the one and pursue the other; the cry of deer mangled by throttling dogs—the shouts of men, and the clatter of horses’ hoofs, seemed at once to sur- round him—while every group pursued, with all the fury of the chase, the employment in which the artist had represented them as engaged. Level looked on this strange scene devoid of wonder, (which seldom intrudes itself upon the sleeping fancy,) but with an anxious sensation of awful fear. At length an indi- vidual figure among the tissued huntsmen, as he ga- zed upon them more fixedly, seemed to leave the ar- ras, and to approach the bed of the slumberer. As he drew near, his figure appeared to alter. His hunt- ing-horn became a brazen-clasped volume; his hunt- ing cap changed to such a furried head-gear as gra- ces the burgomasters of Rembrant; his Flemish garb remained, but his features, no longer agitated with the fury of the chase, were changed to such a state of awful and stern composure, as might best portray the first proprietor of Monkbams, such as he had THE ANTIQUARY. 109 been described to Level by his descendants during the precedingevening. As this metamorphosis took place, the hubbub among the other personages in the arras disappeared from the imagination of the dreamer, which was now exclusively bent on the single figure before him. Level strove to interrogate this awful person in the form of exorcism proper for the occa- sion, but his tongue, as is usual in frightful dreams, refused its office, and clung, palsied, to the roof of his mouth. Aldobrand held up his finger, as if to impose silence upon the guest who had intruded on his apartment, and began deliberately to unclasp the venerable volume which occupied, his left hand.— When it was unfolded, he turned over the leaves hastily for a short space, and then raising his figure to its full dimensions, and holding the book aloft in his left hand, pointed to a passage in the page which he thus displayed. Although the language was un- known to our dreamer, his eye and attention were both strongly caught by the line which the figure seemed thus to press upon his notice, the words of which appeared to blaze with a supernatural light, and remained riveted upon his memory. As the vision shut his volume, a strain of delightful music seemed to fill the apartment—Lovel started, and be- came completely awake. The music, however, was still in his ears, nor ceased till he could distinctly follow the measure of an old Scottish ttlrre. He sat up in bed, and endeavoured-to clear his brain of the phantoms which had disturbed it during this weary night. The beams of the morning sun streamed through the half-closed shutters, and ad- mitted a distinct light into the apartment. He look- ed round upon the hangings, but the mixed groups of silken and worsted huntsmen v/ere as stationary as tenter hooks could make them, and only trembled slightly as the early breeze, which found its way through an open crevice of the latticed window, glided along their surface. Lovel leapt out of bed, and, wrapping himself in a morning-gown, that had 10 110 THE ANTIQUARY. been considerately laid by his bedside, stepped to- ward the window, which commanded a view of the sea, the roar of whose billows announced it still dis- quieted by the storm of the preceding evening, al- though the morning was fair and serene. The win- dow of a turret, which projected at an angle with the wall, and thus came to be very near Lovel’s apart- ment, was half open, and from that quarter he heard again the same music which had probably broken short his dream. With its visionary character it had lost much of its charms—it was now nothing more than an air on the harpsicord, tolerably well per- formed—such is the caprice of imagination as affect- ing the fine arts. A female voice sung, with some t^ste and great simplicity, something between a song and a hymn, in words to the following effect:— “ Why sittest thou by that ruin’d hall. DostThou thou aged its formercarl so pridestern andrecall. gray? 4 Or ponder how it pass’d away?” ' Know’st“ So long thou enjoy’d, not me!” so oft the misused— deep Voice cried; Alternate,Desired, inneglected, thy fickle and pride, accused? “ BeforeMan and my his breath, marvels like pass blazing away; flax, AndAre changing founded, empires flourish, wane and anddecay. wax, “ RedeemWhile in minemy glass hours—the the sand-grains space is brief—shiver. AndWhen measureless Time and thy thou joy shall or gri-ef, part for ever!” While the verses were yet singing, Lovel had re- turned to his bed; the train of ideas which they awakened was romantic and pleasing, such as his soul delighted in, and willingly adjourning, till more broad day, the doubtful task of determining on his future line of conduct, he abandoned himself to the pleasing langour inspired by the music, and fell into a sound and refreshing sleep, from which he was THE ANTIQUARY. Ill only awakened at a late hour by old Caxon, who came creeping into the room to render the offices of a valet-de-chambre. “ I have brushed your coat, sir,” said the old man, when he perceived Lovel was awake, “ the callant brought it frae Fairport this morning, for that ye had on yesterday is sea- tly feasibly dry, though it’s been a’ night at the kitchen fire—and I hae cleaned your shoon—I doubt ye’ll no be want- ting me to tie your hair, for a’ (with a gentle sigh) the young gentlemen wear crops now—but I hae the curling-tangs here to gie it a bit turn ower the brow, if ye like, before ye gae down to the leddies.” Lovel, who was by this time once more on his legs, declined the old man’s professional offices, but accompanied the refusal with such a douceur as com* pletely sweetened Caxon’s mortification. “ It’s a pity he disna get his hair tied and pou- thered,” said the ancient frizeur, when he had got once more into the kitchen, in which, on one pre- tence or other, he spent three parts of his idle time— that is to say, of his -whole time—“ it’s a great pity, for he’s a comely young gentleman.” “ Hout awa’, ye auld gowk,” said Jenny Rinthe- rout, “ would ye creesh his bonny brown hair wi’ your nasty ulyie, and then moust it like the auld minister’s wig?—Ye’ll be for your breakfast, I’se warrant?—hae, there’s a soup parridge for ye—it will set ye better to be slaistering at them and the lapper-milk than middling wi’ Mr. Level’s head— ye wad spoil the maist natural and beautifaest head o’ hair in a’ Fairport, baith burgh and county.” The poor barber sighed over the disrespect into which his art had so universally fallen, but Jenny was a person too important to offend by contradic- tion; so, sitting quietly down in the kitchen, he di- gested at once his humiliation, and the contents of a bicker which held a Scotch pint of substantial oat- meal porridge. 112 THE ANTIQUARY.

CHAPTER XL AndSometimes ordered he all thinks the pageantsthat Heaven as they this went;vision sent. TheSometimes loose and that scatter’d only ’twas reliques wild Fancy’s of the day.play,— We must now request our readers to adjourn to the breakfast parlour of Mr. Oldbuck, who, des- pising the modern slops of tea and coffee, was sub- stantially regaling himself, more marjorum, with cold roast-beef, and a glass of a sort of beverage called Mum, a species of fat ale, brewed from wheat and bitter herbs, of which the present generation only know the name by its occurrence in revenue acts of parliament, coupled with cider, perry, and other ex- ciseable commodities. Lovel, who was seduced to taste it, with difficulty refrained from pronouncing it detestable, but did refrain, as he saw he should otherwise give great offence to his host, who had the liquor annually prepared with peculiar care, accord- ing to the approved recipe bequeathed to him by the so often mentioned Aldobrand Oldenbuck. The hospitality of the ladies offered Lovel a breakfast more suited to modern taste, and while he was en- gaged in partaking it, he was assailed by indirect in- quiries concerning the manner in which he passed the night. “ We canna compliment Mr. Lovel on his looks this morning, brother—but he winna condescend on any ground of disturbance he has had in the night- time—I am certain he looks very pale, and when he came here he was as fresh as a rose.” “ Why, sister, consider this rose of yours has been knocked about by sea and wind all yesterday evening, as if he had been a bunch of kelp or tangle, and how the devil would you have him retain his colour?” “ I certainly do still feel somewhat fatigued,” said THE ANTIQUARY-. 113 Lovel, “ notwithstanding the excellent accommoda- tions with which your hospitality supplied me..” “ Ah sir!” said Miss Oldbuck, looking at him with a knowing smile, or what was meant to be one, “ ye’ll not allow of any inconvenience, out of civility to us.” “ Really, madam, I had no disturbance, for I can- not term such the music with which some kind fairy favoured me.” “ I doubted Mary wad wake you wi’ her skreigh- ing; she didna ken I had left open a chink of your -window, for, forbye the ghaist, the Green Room doesna vent weel in a high wind—But, I am judg- ing, ye heard mair than Mary’s lilts yestreen—weel, men are hardy creatures, they can gae through wi’ a’ thing—I am sure had I been to undergo ony thing of that nature, that’s to say that’s beyond nature—I would hae skreigh’d out at once, and raised the house, be the consequence what liket—and, I dare say, the minister wad hae done as mickle, and sae I hae tald him—I ken naebody but my brother, Monk- barns himsel, wad gae through the like o’t, if, in- deed, it binna you, Mr. LovcL” “ A man of Mr. Oldbuck’s learning, madam, would not be exposed to the inconvenience sustained by the Highland gentleman you mentioned last night.” “ Ay! ay! ye understand now where the difficulty lies —language? he has ways o’ his ain wad banish a’ thae sort o’ worricows as far as the hindermost parts of Gideon, (meaning possibly Midian,) as Mr. Blat- tergowl says—only ane wadna be uncivil to one’s forbear, though he be a ghaist—I am sure I will try that receipt of your’s, brother, that ye showed me in a book, if ony body is to sleep in that room again, though, I think, in Christian charity, ye should ra- ther fit up the matted-room—it’s a wee damp and dark, to be sure, but then we hae seldom occasion for a spare bed.” “ No, no, sister; dampness and darkness are worse 10* 314 THE ANTIQUARY. than spectres—ours are spirits of light—and I would rather have you try the spell.” “ I will do that blythely, Monkbarns, an’ I had the ingredients, as my cookery book ca’s them^—There was vervain and dill—I mind that—Davie Dibble will ken about them, though, may be, he’ll gie them Latin names—and pepper-corn, we hae walth o’ them, for”--— “ Hypericon, thou foolish woman!” thundered Oldbuck, “ d’ye suppose you’re making a haggis—• or do you think that a spirit, though he be formed of air, can be expelled by a receipt against wind? This wise Grizel of mine, Mr. Level, recollects (with what accuracy you may judge) a charm which I once mentioned to her, and which, happening to hit her superstitious noddle, she remembers better than any thing tending to a useful purpose I may chance to have said for this ten years—But many an old woman beside herself” “ Auld woman! Monkbarns,” said Miss Old- buck, roused something above her usual submissive tone, “ ye really are less than civil to me.” “ Not less than just, Grizel; however, I include in the same class many a sounding name, from Jam- blichus down to Aubrey, who have wasted their time in devising imaginary remedies for non-exist- ent diseases—But I hope, my young friend, that, charmed or uncharmed—secured by the potency of Hypericon, ThatWith hindervervain witches and with of dill, their will, y or left disarmed and defenceless to the inroads of the invisible world, you will give another night to the terrors of the haunted apartment, and another day to your faithful and real friends.” u I heartily wish I could, but”—■■ “ Nay, but me no buts—I have set my hearjt upon it.” “ I am greatly obliged, my dear sir, but” THE ANTIQUARY. 115 “ Look ye there, now—but again! I hate but; I know no form of expression in which he can appear that is amiable, excepting as a butt of sack—W is to me a more detestable combination of letters than no itself—No is a surly, honest fellow, speaks his mind rough and round at once—But is a sneaking, evasive, half-bred, exceptions sort of a conjunction, which comes to pull away the cup just when it is at your lips— The good precedent—fie it does allay upon but yel! ButSome yet monstrous is as a jailer malefactor.” to bring forth “ Well, then,” answered Level, whose motions were really undetermined at the moment, “ you shall not connect the recollection of my name with so churlish a particle—I must soon think of leaving Fairport I am afraid—and I will, since you are good enough to wish it, take this opportunity of spending another day here.” “ And you shall be rewarded, my boy—First, you shall see John o’ the Girnell’s grave, and then we’ll walk gently along the sands, the state of the tide be- ing first ascertained, (for we will have no more Peter Wilkins adventures, no more Glum and Gawrie work,) as far as Knockwinnock Castle, and inquire after the old knight and my fair foe—which will be but barely civil, and then” “ I beg pardon, my dear sir; but, perhaps, you had better adjourn your visit till to-morrow—I am a stranger, you know.” “ And are, therefore, the more bound to show ci- vility, I should suppose—But I beg your pardon for mentioning a word that perhaps belongs only to a collector of antiquities—I am one of the old school, When courtiers gallop’d o’er four counties TheAnd ball’shumbly fair hope partner she caughtto behold. no cold.” 116 THE ANTIQUARY. “ Why, if—if—if you thought it would be ex- pected—but I believe I had better stay.” “ Nay, nay, my good friend, I am not so old- fashioned as to press you to what is disagreeable, neither—it is sufficient that I see there is some remora, some cause of delay, some mid impediment which I have no title to inquire into. Or you are still somewhat tired perhaps—I warrant I find means to entertain your intellects without fatiguing your limbs—I am no friend to violent exertion my- self—a walk in the garden once a day is exercise enough for any thinking being—none but a fool or a fox-hunter would require more. Well, what shall we set about? my Essay on Castrametation—but I have that in petto for our afternoon cordial—or I will show you the controversy upon Ossian’s Poems between Mac-Crib and me—I hold with the acute Orcadian—he with the defenders of the authenticity —The controversy began in smooth, oily, lady-like terms, but is now waxing more sour and eager as we get on—it already partakes somewhat of old Sca- liger’s style. I fear the rogue will get some scent ©f that story of Ochiltree’s—but, at worst, I have a hard repartee for him on the affair of the abstracted Antigonus—I will show you his last epistle, and the scroll of my answer—egad, it is a trimmer.” So saying, the Antiquary opened a drawer, and began rummaging among a quantity of miscellaneous papers, ancient and modern. But it was the misfor- tune of this learned gentleman, as it may be that of many learned and unlearned, that he frequently ex- perienced, on such occasions, what Harlequin calls Vembaras des richesses—in other words, the abun- dance of his collection often prevented him from finding the article he sought for. “ Curse the pa- pers! I believe,” said Oldbuck, as he shuffled them to and fro—“ I believe they make themselves wings like grasshoppers, and fly away bodily—but here, in the meanwhile, look at that little treasure.” So say- ing, he put into his baud a case made of oak, fenced THE ANTiqUARY. ur at the corner with silver roses and studs—“Pr’ythee, undo this button,” said he, as he observed Lovel fumbling at the clasp; he did so, the lid opened, and discovered a thin quarto, curiously bound in black shagreen—“ There, Mr. Lovel—there is the work I mentioned to you last night—the rare quarto of the Augsburg Confession, the foundation at once and the bulwark of the Reformation, drawn up by the learned and venerable Melancthon, defended by the Elector of Saxony, and the other valiant hearts who stood up for their faith, even against the front of a powerful and victorious emperor, and imprinted by the scarcely less venerable and praiseworthy Aldo- brand Oldenbuck, my happy progenitor, during the yet more tyrannical attempts of Philip II. to sup- press at once civil and religious liberty. Yes, sir— for printing this work, that eminent man was ex- pelled from his ungrateful country, and driven to establish his household gods even here at Monk- barns, among the ruins of papal superstition and do- mination. Look upon his venerable effigies, Mr. Lovel, and respect the honourable occupation in which it presents him, as labouring personally at the press for the diffusion of Christian and political knowledge—And see here his favourite motto, ex- pressive of his independence and self-reliance, which scorned to owe any thing to patronage, that was not earned by desert—expressive also of that firmness of mind and tenacity of purpose, recommended by Ho- race. He was, indeed, a man who would have stood firm, had his whole printing-house, presses, founts, forms, great and small pica, been shivered to pieces around him—Read, I say, his motto, for each printer had his motto, or device, when that illustrious art was first practised. My ancestor’s was expressed, j| asGunst—that you see, in is,the skill, Teutonic or prudence, phrase, inKunst availing macht our- selves of our natural talents and advantages, will compel favour and patronage, even where it is with- held, from prejudice or ignorance.” 118 THE ANTIQUARY. “ And that,” said Level, after a moment’s thought- ful silence, “that, then, is the meaning of these German words?” “ Unquestionably—you perceive the appropriate application to a consciousness of inward worth, and of eminence in a useful and honourable art. Eagh printer, in those days, as I have already informed you, had his device, his impress, as I may call it, in the same manner as the doughty chivalry of the age, who frequented tilt and tournament. My an- cestor boasted as much in his, as if he had displayed it over a conquered field of battle, though it betoken- ed the diffusion of knowledge, not the effusion of blood. And yet there is a family tradition which affirms him to have chosen it from a more romantic circumstance.” “ And what is that said to have been, my good sir?” “ Why, it rather encroaches on my respected pre- decessor’s fame for prudence and wisdom—Sed semel insanivimus omnes—every body has played the fool in their turn—it is said my ancestor, during his apprenticeship with the descendant of old Fust, whom popular tradition hath sent to the devil, un- der the name of Faustus, was attracted by a paltry slip of womankind—his master’s daughter, called Bertha. They broke rings, or went through some idiotical ceremony, as is usual on such idle occa.- sions, as the plighting a true-love troth, and Aldo- brand set out on his journey through Germany, as became an honest hand-worker; for such was the custom of mechanics at that time, to make a tour through the empire, and work a£ their trade for a time in each of the most eminent towns, before they finally settled themselves for life. It was a wise custom; for, as such travellers were received like brethren in each town by those of their own handi- craft, they were sure, in every case, to have the means either of gaining or communicating know- ledge. When my ancestor returned to Nurem- THE ANTIQUARY. 119 burg, he is said to have found his old master newly dead, and two or three gallant young suitors, some of them half-starved sprigs of nobility, forsooth in pursuit of the Tung-fraw Bertha whose father was understood to have bequeathed her a dowry which might weigh against sixteen armorial quarters. But Bertha, not a bad sample of womankind, had made a vow she would only marry that man who could work her father’s press. The skill at that time was as rare as wonderful; beside that, the expedient rid her at once of most of her gentle suitors, who would have as soon wielded a conjuring wand as a com- posing-stick—some of the more ordinary typogra- phers made the attempt, but none were sufficiently possessed of the mystery—But I tire you.” “ By no means; pray proceed, Mr. Oldbuck; I listen with uncommon interest.” “ Ah! it is all folly—however—-Aldobrand ar- rived in the ordinary dress, as we would say, of a journeyman printer—the same with which he had traversed Germany; and conversed with Luther, Melancthon, Erasmus, and other learned men, who disdained not his knowledge, and the power he pos- sessed of diffusing it, though hid under a garb so homely. But what appeared respectable in the eyes ef wisdom, religion, learning, and philosophy, seem- ed mean, as might readily be supposed, and dis- gusting, in those of silly and affected womankind, and Bertha refused t^^knowledge her former lover in the torn doublet,^Inn cap, clouted shoes, and leathern apron of a training handicraftsman or me- chanic. He claimed ms privilege, however, of be- ing admitted to a trial, and when the rest of the suitors had either declined the contest, or made such work as the devil could not read if his pardon de- pended on it, all eyes were bent on the stranger. Aldobrand stepped gracefully forward, arranged the types without omissjon of a single letter, hyphen, or comma, imposed them without deranging a single space, and pulled off the first proof as clear and free 120 THE ANTiqjJARY. from errors as if it had been a triple revise! All applauded the worthy successor of the immortal Faustus—the blushing maiden acknowledged her error in trusting to the eye more than the intellect, and the elected bridegroom thenceforward chose for his impress or device the appropriate words, ‘ Skill wins favour.’’ But what is the matter with you? you are in a brown study? Come, I told you this was but trumpery conversation for thinking people—and now I have my hand on the Ossianic controversy.” “ I beg your pardon,” said Lovel? “ I am going to appear very silly and changeable in your eyes, Mr. Oldbuck, but you seemed to think Sir Arthur might in civility expect a call from me?” “ Psha, psha, I can make your apology; and if you must leave so soon as you say, what signifies how you stand in his honour’s good graces? And I warn you, that the Essay on Castrametation is something prolix, and will occupy the time we can spare after dinner, so you may lose the Ossianic controversy if we do not dedicate this morning to it—we will go out to my ever green bower, my sacred holly-tree yonder, and have it fronde super viridi. “Most Sing friendship hey-ho! hey-bo! is feigning, for the most green loving holly, mere folly. “ But, egad,” continued the old gentleman, “when I look closer at you, I begin to think you may be of a different opinion. Amen, t^^all my heart—I quar- rel with no man’s hobby, does not run it a-tilt against mine, and if he djjes—let him beware his eyes—What say you? in the language of the world and the worldlings base, if you can condescend to so mean a sphere, shall we stay or go?” “ In the language of selfishness, then, which is of course the language of the world—let us go by all means. “ Amen, amen, quo’ the Earl Marshal,” answered, Oldbuck, as he exchanged his slippers for a pair ot stout walking shoes with cutikins, as he called them, THE ANTIQUARY. 121 of black cloth. He only interrupted the walk by a slight deviation to the tomb of John o’ the Girnell, remembered as the last bailiff of the abbey who had resided at Monkbarns. Beneath an old oak tree up- on a hillock, sloping pleasantly to the south, and catching a distant view of the sea over two or three rich enclosures, and the Mussel-crag, lay a moss- grown stone, and in memory of the departed worthy, it bore an inscription, of which, as Mr. Oklbuck af- firmed, (though many doubted,) the defaced charac- ters could be distinctly traced to the following ef- fect:— ErthHere haslyeth ye Jon nit o’and ye heaen Girnell, ye kirnell. IlkaIn hys gud tyme mannis ilk wyfe’sberth wi’hennis bairnis clokit, was stokit. FourHe deled for ye a bollhale o’ kirke bear and in firlottis ane for fyve,pure mennis wyvis. “ You see how modest the author of this sepulchral commendation was—he tells us, that honest John could make five firlots, or quarters, as you would say, out of the boll, instead of four—and he gave the fifth to the wives of the parish, and accounted for the other four to the abbot and chapter—that in his time the wives’ hens always laid eggs, and devil thank them, if they got one fifth of the abbey rents; and that honest men’s hearths were never unblessed with an offspring—an addition to the miracle, which they, as well I, must have considered as perfectly unac- countable. But come on—leave we Jock o’ the Gir- nell, and let us jog on to the yellow sands, where the sea, like a repulsed enemy, is now retreating from the ground on which he gave us battle last night.” Thus saying, he led the way to the sands. Upon the links or downs close to them, were seen four or five huts inhabited by fishers, whose boats, drawn high upon the beach, lent the odoriferous vapours of pitch metling under a burning sun, to contend with those of the offals of fish and other nuisances usually collected round Scottish cottages. Undisturbed by VOL. I. 11 122 THE ANTIQUARY. these complicated steams of abomination, a middle- aged woman, with a face which had defied a thousand storms, sat mending a net at the door of one of the ' cottages. A handkerchief close bound about her | head, and a coat, which had formerly been that of a man, gave her a masculine air, which was increased by her strength, uncommon stature, and harsh voice. “ What are ye for the day, your honour,” she said, or'rather screamed, to Oldbuck, “ caller haddocks and whitings—a bannock-fluke and a cock-padle. “ How much for the bannock-fluke and cock-pa- dle?” demanded the Antiquary. “ Four white shillings and saxpence,” answered the Naiad. “ Four devils and six of their imps,” retorted the Antiquary; “ Do ye think I am mad, Maggie?” “ And div ye think,” rejoined the virago, setting her arms a-kimbo, “ that my man and my sons are to gae to the sea in weather like yestreen and the day— sic a sea as it’s yet outbye—and get naething for their fish, and be misca’d into the bargain, Monk- barns? It’s no fish ye’re buying—it’s men’s lives.” “ Well, Maggie, I’ll bid you fair—I’ll bid you a shilling for the fluke and the cock-padle, or sixpence separately—and if all your fish is as well paid, I think your man, as you call him, and your sons, will make a good voyage,” “ De’il gin their boat were knockit against the Bell-Rock rather! it wad be better, and the bonnier voyage o’ the twa. A shilling for thae twa bonny fish! Odd, that’s ane indeed!” “ Well, well, you old beldam, carry your fish up to Monkbarns, and see what my sister will give you for them.” “ Na, na, Monkbarns, dei’l a fit—I’ll rather deal i’ yoursel; for, though you’re near aneugh, yet Miss wGrizel has an unco close grip—I’ll gie ye them (in oftened tone) for three-and-saxpence.” a s“ Eighteen-pence, or nothing!” Eighteen-pence!!!” (in a loud tone of astonish- THE ANTIQUARY. 123 ment, which declined into a sort of rueful whine, when the dealer turned as if to walk away)—“Ye’ll no be for the fish, then?”—(then louder, as she saw him moving off)—“ I’ll gie them—and—and—and a half-a-dozen o’ partans to make the sauce, for three shillings and a dram.” “ Half-a-crown, then, Maggie, and a drath.” “ Aweel, your honour maun hae’t your ain gate, nae doubt; but a dram’s worth siller now—the dis- tillery’s no working.” “ And I hope they’ll never work again in my time,” said Oldbuck. “ Ay, ay—it’s easy for your honour, and the like o’ you gentle folks, to say sae, that hae stouth and routh, and fire and fending, and meat and claith, and sit dry and canny by the fireside—But an’ ye wanted fire, and meat, and dry claise, and were deeing o’ cauld, and had a sair heart, whilk is warst ava’, wi’ just tippence in your pouch, wadna ye be glad to buy a dram wi’t, to be eliding and claise, and a sup- per and heart’s ease into the bargain till the morn’s morning?” “ It’s even too true an apology, Maggie. Is your good man off to sea this morning, after his exertions last night?” “ In troth is he, Monkbarns; he was awa this morn- ing by four o’clock, when the sea was working like barm wi’ yestreen’s wind, and our bit coble dancing in’t like a cork.” “ Well, he’s an industrious fellow. Carry the fish up to Monkbarns.” “That I will—or I’ll send little Jenny, she’ll rin faster; but I’ll ca’ on Miss Grizzy for the dram my- sel, and say ye sent me.” A non-descript animal, which might have passed for a mermaid, as it was paddling in a pool among the rocks, was summoned ashore by the shrill screams of its dam; and having been made decent, as her mo- ther called it, which was performed by adding a short red cloak to a petticoat, which was at first her sole 124 THE ANTIQUARY. covering, and which reached scantly below her knee, the child was dismissed with the fish in a basket, and a request, on the part of Monkbarns, that they might be prepared for dinner. “ It would have been long,”' said Oldbuck with much self-complacency, “ ere my wroniankind could have made such a reasonable bar- gain with that old skinflint, though they sometimes wrangle with her for an hour together under my study window, like three sea-gulls screaming and sputtering in a gale of wind. But, come, wend we on our way to Knockwinnock.”

CHAPTER XII. Heggar?—the only freeman of your commonwealth; FreeObey aboveno governor, Scot-free, use that no religionobserve no laws, OrBut constitute what they themselves, draw from yettheir are own no rebels.ancient custom.Jirome. With our reader’s permission, we will outstep the slow, though sturdy pace of the Antiquary, whose halts, as he turned round to his companion at every moment to point out something remarkable in the landscape, or to enforce some favourite topic more emphatically than the exercise of walking per- mitted, delayed their progress considerably. Notwithstanding the fatigues and dangers of the preceding evening, Miss Wardour was able to rise at her usual hour, and to apply herself to her usual occupations, after she had first satisfied her anxiety concerning her father’s state of health. Sir Arthur was no farther indisposed than by the effect of great agitation and unusual fatigue, but these were sufficient to induce him to keep his bedchamber. To look back on the events of the preceding day was, to Isabella, a very unpleasing retrospect. She owed her life, and that of her father, to the very per- son by whom, of all others, she wished least to be THE ANTIQUARY. 125 obliged, because she could hardly even express com- mon gratitude towards him without encouraging hopes which might be injurious to them both. “ Why should it be my fate to receive such benefits, and conferred at so much personal risk, from one whose romantic passion I have so unceasingly laboured to discourage? Why should chance have given him this advantage over me? and why, oh why, should a half-subdued feeling in my bosom, in spite of my sober reason, almost rejoice that he has attained it?” While Miss Wardour thus taxed herself with way- ward caprice, she beheld advancing down the avenue, not her younger and more dreaded preserver, but the old beggar who had made such a capital figure in the melo-drama of the preceding evening. She rung the bell for her maid servant, “ Bring the old man up stairs.” The servant returned in a minute or two—“ He will come up at no rate, madam—he says his clouted shoes never were on a carpet in his life, and that, please God, they never shall—Must I take him into the servant’s hall?” “ No; stay, I want to speak with him—Where iou may,” replied Oldbuck; “Sir Ar- thur’s embarrassments have of late become so many and so pressing, that I am surprised you have not heard of them—And then his absurd and expensive operations, carried on by this High German land- louper Dousterswivel”— “ I think I have seen that person, when, by some rare chance, I happened to be in the coffee-room at Fairport—a tall, beetle-browed, awkward-built map, 140 THE ANTIQUARY. who entered upon scientific subjects, as it appeared to my ignorance, at least with more assurance than knowledge, was very arbitrary in laying down and asserting his opinions, and mixed the terms of science with a strange jargon of mysticism; a simple youth whispered me that he was an Illumine, and carried on an intercourse with the invisible world.” “ O, the same—the same—he has enough of prac- tical knowledge to speak scholarly and wisely to those of whose intelligence he stands in awe; and, to say the truth, this faculty, joined to his matchless impu- dence, imposed upon me for some time when I first knew him. But I have since understood, that when he is among fools and womankind, he exhibits him- self as a perfect charlatan—talks of the magisterium— of sympathies and antipathies—of the cabala—-of the divining rod—and all the trumpery with which the Rosycrucians cheated a darker age, and which, to our eternal disgrace, has in some degree revived in our own. My friend Heavystern knew this fellow abroad, and unintentionally (for he, you must know, is, God bless the mark, a sort of believer) let me in- to a good deal of his real character. Ah! were I a caliph for a!day, as honest Abon Hassan wished to be, I would scourge me these jugglers out of the commonwealth with rods of scorpions—They de- bauch the spirit of the ignorant and credulous with mystical trash as effectually as if they had besotted their brains with gin, and then pick their pockets with the same facility. And now has this strolling black- guard and mountebank put the finishing blow to the ruin of an ancient and honourable family!” “ But how could- he impose upon Sir Arthur to any ruinous extent?” * “ Why, I don’t know—Sir Arthur is a good ho- nourable man—but, as you may see from his loose ideas concerning the Pikish language, he is by no means very strong in the understanding. His estate is strictly entailed, and he has been always an em- barrassed man. This rapparee promised mountains THE ANTIQUARY. 141 of wealth, and an English company was found to ad- vance large sums of money—-I fear on Sir Arthur’s guarantee. Some gentlemen—I was ass enough to be one—-took small shares in the concern, and Sir Ar- thur himself made great outlay; we were trained on by specious appearances and more specious lies, and now, like John Bunyan, we awake, and behold it is a dream.” “ I am surprised that you, Mr. Oldbuck, should have encouraged Sir Arthur by your example.” “ Why,” said Oldbuck, dropping his large grizzled eye-brows, “ I am something surprised and ashamed at it myself; it was not the lucre of gain—nobody cares less for money (to be a prudent man) than I do —but I thought I might risk this small sum. It will be expected, though I am sure I can not see why, that I should give something to any one who will be kind enough to rid me of that slip of womankind, my niece, Mary M‘Intyre; and perhaps it may be thought I should do something to get that jackanapes, her brother, on in the army. In either case, to tre- ble my venture would have helped me out. And be- sides, I had some idea that the Phcenicians had, in former times, wrought copper in that very spot. That cunning scoundrel, Dousterswivel, found out my blunt side, and brought strange tales (d—n him) of appearances of old shafts, and vestiges of mining operations, conducted in a manner quite different from those of modern times; and I—-in short, I was a fool, and there is an end. My loss is not much worth speaking about; but Sir Arthur’s engagements are, I understand, very deep, and my heart aches for him, and the poor young lady who must share his distress.” Here the conversation paused, until renewed in the next chapter. 142 THE ANTIQUARY* CHAPTER XIV. IfMy I maydreams trust presage the flattering some joyful eye ofnews sleep, at hand: AndMy bosom’sall this daylord an sits unaccustom’d lightly in his spirit throne. Lifts me above the ground with cheerfulBorneo thoughts. and Juliet The account of Sir Arthur’s unhappy adventure had led Oldbuck somewhat aside from his purpose of catechising Lovel concerning the cause of his re- sidence at Fairport. He was now, however, resolv- ed to open the subject. “ Miss Wardour was for- merly known to you, she tells me, Mr. Lovel?” “ He had had the pleasure,” Lovel answered, “ to see her at Mrs. Wilmot’s in Yorkshire.” “ Indeed! you never mentioned that to me before, and you did not accost her as an old acquaintance.” “ I—-did not know it was the same lady till we met, and then it was my duty to wait till she recog- nised me.” “ I am aware of your delicacy; the knight’s a punc- tilious old fool, but I promise you his daughter is above all nonsensical ceremony and prejudice. And now since you have found a new set of friends here, may I ask if you intend to leave Fairport as soon as you proposed:” u What if I should answer your question by an- other,” replied Lovel, ‘k and ask you what is your opinion of dreams:” “ Of dreams, you foolish lad!—why what should I think of them but as the deceptions of imagination when Reason drops the reins? I know no differen e betwixt them and the hallucinations of madness—the unguided horses run away with the carriage in both cases, only' in the one-the coachman is drunk, and in the other he slumbers. What says our Marcus Tul- ly—-«St insanorum visis, jides non est habenda, cur credatur somnientium visis, fuq multo etiam pertur- batiora eunt non intelligo?* THE ANTIQUART. 143 “ Yes, sir, but Cicero also tells us, that as he who passes the whole day in darting the javelin must sometimes hit the mark, so, amid the crowd of night- ly dreams, some may occur consonant to future events.” “ Ay—that is to say, you have hit the mark in your own sage opinion? Lord! I .ord! how this world is given to folly! Well, I will allow for once the Oneiro-critical science—I will give faith to the expo- sition of dreams, and say a Daniel hath arisen to in- terpret them, if you can prove to me that that dream of yours has pointed out to a prudent line of con- duct.” “ Tell me, then,” answered Level, “ why when I was hesitating whether to abandon an enterprise, which I have, perhaps, rashly undertaken, I should, last night, dream I saw your ancestor pointing to a motto which encouraged me to perseverance? Why should I have thought of those words which I can not remember to have heard before, which are in a language unknown to me, and which yet conveyed, when translated, a lesson, which I could so plainly apply to my own circumstances? The Antiquary burst into a fit of laughing. “ Ex- cuse me, my young friend, but it is thus we silly mortals deceive ourselves and look out of doors for motives which originate in our own wilful will. I think I can help out the cause of your vision. You were so abstracted in your contemplations yesterday after dinner, as to pay little attention to the dis- course between Sir Arthur and me, until we fell upon the controversy concerning the Pikes, which terminated so abruptly; but I remember producing to Sir Arthur a book printed by my ancestor, and making him observe the motto; your mind was bent elsewhere, but your ear had mechanically received and retained the sounds, and your busy fancy, stirred by Grizel’s legend, I presume, had introduced this scrap of German into your dream. As for the waking wisdom which seized on so frivolous a cir- 144- THE ANTIQUARY. cumstance as an apology for persevering in some course which it could find no better reason to jus- tify, it is exactly one of those juggling tricks which the sagest of us play off now and then, to gratify our inclination at the expense of our understanding.” “ I own it,” said Lovel, blushing deeply—“ I be- lieve you are right, Mr. Oldbuck, and I ought to sink in your esteem for attaching a moment’s con- sequence to such a frivolity; but I was tossed by contradictory wishes and resolutions, and you know how slight a line will tow a boat when afloat on the billows, though a cable would hardly move her when pulled up on the beach.” “ Right, right—fall in my opinion?—not a whit— I love thee the better, man-—why, we have story for story against each other, and I can think with less shame on having exposed myself about that cursed Prsetorium-—though I am still convinced Agricola’s camp must have been somewhere in this neighbour- hood—And now, Lovel, my good lad, be sincere with me—What makes you from Wittenberg? Why have you left your own country and professional pursuits, for an idle residence in such a place as Fairport? A truant disposition, I fear.” “ Even so-—yet I am so detached from all the world, have so few in whom I am interested, or who are interested in me, that my very state of destitu- tion gives me independence. He, whose good or evil fortune affects himself alone, has the best right to pursue it according to his own fancy.” “ Pardon me, young man,” said Oldbuck, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder, and making a full halt—“.sw/?a»n;j

CHAPTER XV. “ Be this letter delivered with haste—haste—post-hastef— Bide, villain, ride—forAncient thy Indorsation life—for thyof Letters life—for of Importance.thy life!” Leaving Mr. Oldbuck and his friend to enjoy their hard bargain of fish, we beg leave to transpor the reader to the back parlour of the postmaster’s house at Fairport, where his wife, he himself being absent, was employed in assorting for delivery' the letters which had come by the Edinburgh post. This is very often in country towns the period of the day when gossips find it particularly agreeable to call on the man or woman of letters, in order, from the out- side of the epistles, and, if they are not belied, occa- sionally from the inside also, to amuse themselves with gleaning information, or forming conjectures about the correspondence and affairs of their neigh- bours. Two females of this description were, at the time we mention, assisting, or impeding, Mrs. Mailsetter in her official dutyj» “ Preserve us, sirs,” said the butcher’s wife; “ there’s ten, eleven—twal letters to Tennant and Co.—thae folk do mair business than a’ the rest o’ the burgh.” “ there’s“ Ay; twabut o’see, them lass,” faulded answered unco thesquare, baker’s and lady,seal- ed at the tae side—I doubt there will be protested bills in them.” 152 THE ANTIQUARY. “ Is there ony letters come yet for Jenny Cason? —the lieutenant’s been awa’ three weeks.” “ Just ane, on Tuesday was a week.” “ Was’t a ship-letter?” “ In troth was’t.” “ It wad be frae the lieutenant, then--I never thought he wad hae lookit ower his shoulder after her.” “ Odd, here’s another,” quoth Mrs. Mailsetter. “ A ship-letter—post-mark, Sunderland.” All rush- ed to seize it. “ Na, na, leddies,” said Mrs. Mail- setter, “ I hae hadaneugho’ that wark—Kenye that Mr. Mailsetter got an unco rebuke frae the secre- tary at Edinburgh, for a complaint that was made about the letter of Aily Bisset’s that you opened, Mrs. Shortcake?” “ Me opened!” answered the spouse of the chief baker of Fairport; “ ye ken yoursel, madam, it just cam open o’ free will in my hand—What could I help it?—folk suld sealwi’ better wax.” “ Weel, I wot that’s true, too,” said Mrs. Mail- setter, who kept a shop of small wares, and we have got some that I can honestly recommend, if ye ken ony body wanting it. But the short and the lang o’t is, that we’ll lose the place gin there’s ony mair complaints o’ the kind.” “ Hout, lass; the provost will take care o’ that.” “ Na, na; I’ll neither trust to provost nor baillie-— but I wad aye be obliging and neighbourly, and I’m no again your looking at the outside of a letter nei- ther—See, the seal has an anchor on’t—-he’s done’t vri’ ane o* his buttons. I’m thinking.” “ Show me! show me!” quoth the wives of the chief butcher and chief baker; and threw themselves on the supposed love-letter, like the weird sisters in Macbeth upon the pilot’s thumb, with curiosity as eager, and scarcely less malignant. Mrs. Heukbane was a tall woman, she held the epistle up between her eyes and the window. Mrs. Shortcake, a little THE ANTIQUARY. 153 squat personage, strained and stood a tiptoe to have her share of the investigation. u It’s frae him, sure aneugh—I can read Richard Taffril on the corner, and it’s written, like John Tamson’s wallet, frae end to end.” “ Haud it lower down, madam,” exclaimed Mrs. Shortcake, in a tone above the prudential whisper which their occupation required—“ haud it lower down—Div ye think naebody can read hand o’ writ but yoursel?” “ Whisht, whisht, sirs, for God’s sake,” said Mrs. Mailsetter, “ there’s somebody in the shop”—then aloud—“ Look to the customers, Baby?” Baby answered from without in a shrill tone; “ It’s naebody but Jenny Caxon, ma’m, to see if there’s ony letters to her.” “ Tell her,” said the faithful postmistress, wink- ing to her compeers, “ to come back the morn at ten o’clock, and I’ll let her ken; we have na had time to sort the mail letters yet; she’s aye in sic a hurry, as if her letters were o’ mair consequence than the best merchant’s o’ the town.” Poor Jenny, a girl of uncommon beauty and mo- desty, could only draw her cloak about her to hide the sigh of disappointment, and return meekly home to endure for another night the sickness of the heart occasioned by hope delayed. “ There’s something about a needle and a pole,” said Mrs. Shortcake, to whom her taller rival in gossiping had at length yielded a peep at the sub- ject of their curiosity. “ Now that’s downright shamefu’,” said Mrs. Heukbane, “ to scorn the poor silly gait of a lassie, after he’s keepit company wi’ her sae lang, and had his will o’ her, as I make nae doubt he has.” “ Its but ower muckle to be doubted,” echoed Mrs. Shortcake; “ to cast up to her that her father’s a barber, and has a pole at his door, and that she’s but a manty maker hersel! Fy, for shame!” “ Hout, tout, leddies,” cried Mrs. Mailsettcr, 154 THE ANTIQUARY. 11 ye’re clean wrang—It’s a line out o’ ane o’hife sailor’s sangs that I have heard him sing, about being true like the needle to the pole.” “ Weel, weel, I wish it may be sae—but it doesna look weel for a lassie like her to keep up a corres- pondence wr’ ane o’ the king’s officers.” “ I’m no denying that,” said Mrs. Mailsetter; “ but it’s a great advantage to the revenue of the post-office thae love letters—See, here’s five or six letters to Sir Arthur Wardour—maisto’ them sealed wi’ wafers and no wi’ wax—there will be a down- come there, believe me.” * “ Ay; they will be business letters, and no frae ony o’ his grand friends, that seals wi’ their coats of arms, as they ca’ them,” said Mrs, Heukbane; 41 pride will hae a fa’—he hasna settled his account wi’ my gudeman, the deacon, for this twalmonth— he’s but slink, I doubt.” “ Nor wi’ huz for sax months,” echoed Mrs. Shortcake—“ He’s but a burnt crust.” “ There’s a letter,” interrupted the trusty post- mistress, 44 from his son, the captain, I’m thinking— the seal has the same things wi the Knockwinnock carriage. He’ll be coming hame to see what he can save out o’ the fire.” The baronet thus dismissed, they took up the esquire--44 Twa letters for Monkbarns-—they’re frae some o’ his learned friends now—See sae close as they’re written down to the very seal—and a’ to save sending a double letter—that’s just like Monkbarns himsel. When he gets a frank he fills it up exact to the weight of an unce, that a carvy-seed would sink the scale; but he’s ne’er a grin abune it. Weel, I wot I wad be broken if I were to gie sic weight to the folk that come tobuy our pepper, and brimstone, and sweatmeats.” 44 He’s a shabby body, the laird o’ Monkbarns,” said Mrs. Heukbane—he’ll make as muckle about buying a fore quarter o’ lamb in August, as about a b^cksey o’ beef. JLet’s taste another drap o’ the sin- THE ANTIQUARV. 155 n'mg (perhaps she meant cinnamon) waters, Mrs. Mailsetter, my dear; Ah! lassies, an’ ye had kend his brother as I did; mony a time he wad slip in to see me wi’ a brace o’ wild deukes in his pouch, when my first gudeman was awu’ at the Falkirk tryst; weel, weel; we’ae no speak o’ that e’enow.” ♦ “ I winna say ony ill o’ this Monkbarns,” said Mrs. Shortcake; “ his brother ne’er brought me ony wild deukes, and this is a douce honest man; we serve the family wi’ bread, and he settles wi’ huz ilka week; only he was in an unco kippage when we sent him a book instead o’ the nick-sticks, whilk, he said, were the true ancient way o’ counting between tradesmen and customers, and sue they are, nae doubt.” “ But look here, lassies,” interrupted Mrs. Mail- setter, “ here’s a sight for sair e’en!—What wad ye gie to ken what’s in the inside o’ this letter?—this is new corn—I hae nae seen the like o’ this—For Wil- liam Lovel, Esquire, at Mrs. Hadoways, High- , street, Fairport, by Edinburgh, N. B. This is just the second letter he has had since he was here.” “ Lord’i sake, let’s see, lass! Lord’s sake, let’s see—that’s him that the hale town kens naething about—and a weel fa’ard lad he is—let’s see, let’s see.” Thus ejaculated the two worthy representa- tives of mother Eve. “ Na, na, sirs,” exclaimed Mrs. Mailsetter; “ hand awa’—bide aff I tell you—this is nane o’ your four- I penny cuts, that we might make up the value to the post-office amang ourselves if ony mischance befell it; the postage is five-and-twenty shillings; and here’s an order frae the Secretary to forward it to the young : gentleman by express, if he’s no at hame. “ Na, na, sirs, this manna be roughly guided.” “ But just let’s look at the outside o’t, woman.” Nothing could be gathered from the outside, ex- cept remarks on the various properties which philo- | sophers ascribe to matter; length, breadth, depth, and weight. The packet was composed of strong 156 THE ANTIQUARY. thick paper, imperviable by the curious C3res of the gossips, though they stared as if they would burst from their sockets. The seal was a deep and strong impression of arms, which defied all tampering. “ Odd, lass,” said Mrs. Shortcake, weighing it in her hand, and wishing, doubtless, that the too, too solid wax would melt and dissolve itself, “ I wad like to ken what’s in the inside o’ this, for that Lovel dings a* that ever set foot on the plain stanes o* Fairport—naebody kens what to make o’ him.” “ Weel, weel, leddies,” said the postmistress, “ we’se sit down and crack about it—Baby,- bring ben the tea water—Mickle obliged to you for your cookies, Mrs. Shortcake—and then weel steek the shop, and cry ben Baby, and take a hand at the cartes till the gudeman comes hame—and then we’il try your braw veal sweet-bread that ye were so kind as to send me, Mrs. Heukbane.” “ But winna ye first send awa’ Mr. Level’s let- ter?” said Mrs. Heukbane.” “ Troth I kenna wha to send wi’t till the gude- man comes hame, for auld Caxon tell’d me that Mr. Lovel stays a’ the day at Monkbarns—he’s in a high fever wi’ puing the laird and Sir Arthur out o’ the sea.” “ Silly auld doited carles,” said Mrs. Shortcake; “ What gar’d them gang a douking in a night like yestreen?” “ I was gi’en to understand it was auld Edie that saved them,’ said Mrs. Heukbane; “ Edie Ochil- tree, the Blue gown, ye ken—and that he pu’d the hale three out of the auld fish pond, for Monkbarns had threepit on them to gang in till’t to see the wark o’ the monks lang syne. “ Hout, lass, nonsense,’’ answered the postmis- tress; “ I’ll tell ye a’ about it, as Caxon tell’titto me. Ye see, Sir Afthur, and Miss Wardour, and Mr. Lovel, suld hae dined at Monkbarns” “ But, Mrs. Mailsetter,” again interrupted Mrs. Heukbane, “ will ye no be for sending awa’ this let- THE ANTIQUARY. 157 ter by express?—there’s our poney and our callant hae gane expresses for the office or now, and the po- ney hasna gane abune thirty mile the day—Jock was sorting him up as I came over bye.” “ Why, Mrs. Heukbane,” said the woman of let- ters, pursing up her mouth, “ ye ken my gudeman likes to ride the expresses himsel—we maun gie our ain fish-guts to our ain seamaws—it’s a red half- guinea to him every time he mounts his mare—and I dare say he’ll be in sune—or I dare to say, it’s the same thing whether the gentleman gets the express this night or early next morning.” “ Only that Mr. Lovel will be in town before the express goes off,” said Mrs. Heukbane, “ and whare are ye then, lass?—but ye ken yere ain ways best.” “ Weel, weel, Mrs. Heukbane,” answered Mrs. Mailsetter, a little out of humour, and even out of countenance, “ I am sure I am never against being neighbour-like, and living, and letting live, as they say, and since I hae been sic a fule as to show you the post-office order—ou, nae doubt, it maun be obey- ed—-but I’ll no need your callant, mony thanks to you—I’ll send little Davie on your poney, and that will be just five-and-threenence to ilka yane o’us.” “ Davie! Lord help ye, the barin’s no ten year auld; and to be plain wi’ ye, our poney resists a bit, and it’s dooms sweer to the road, and naebody can manage him but our Jock.” “ I’m sorry for that,” answered the postmistress, gravely, “ it’s like we maun wait then till the gude man comes hame, after a’—for I wadna like to be responsible in trusting the letter to sic a callant as Jock—our Davie belangs in a manner to the office.” “ Aweel, weel, Mrs. Mailsetter, I see what ye wad be at~but an ye like to risk the bairn, I’ll risk the beast.” Orders were accordingly given. The unwilling poney was brought out of his bed of straw, and again equipped for service—Davie (a leathern post-bag strapped across his shoulders) was perched upon the 14 158 THE ANTIQUARY. saddle, with a tear in his eye, and a switch in his hand. Jock good-naturedly led the animal out of the town, and, by the crack of his whip, and the hoop and holloo of his too-well-known voice, compelled it to take the road towards Monkbarns. Meanwhile the gossips, like the sybils after con- sulting their leaves, arranged and combined the in- formation of the evening, which flew next morning through a hundred channels, and in a hundred varie- ties, thro’ the world of Fairport. Many, strange, and inconsistent, were the rumours to which their com- munications and conjectures gave rise. Some said Tennant and Co. were broken, and that all their bills had come back protested—others, that they had got a great contract frorp government, and letters from the principal merchants at Glasgow, desiring to have shares upon a premium. One report stated that Lieutenant Taffril had acknowledged a private mar- riage with Jenny Caxon—another that he had sent her a letter, upbraiding her with the lowness of her birth and education, and bidding her an eternal adieu. It was generally reported that Sir Arthur Wardour’s affairs had fallen into irretrievable confusion, and this rumour was only doubted by the wise, because the report was traced to Mrs. Mailsetter’s shop, a source more famous for the circulation of news than for their accuracy. But all agreed that a packet from the Secretary of State’s office had arrived, directed for Mr. Level, and had been forwarded by an order- ly dragoon, despatched from the head quarters at Edinburgh, who had gallopped through Fairport without stopping, except just to inquire the way to Monkbarns. The reason of such an extraordinary mission to a very peaceful and retired individual, was variously explained. Some said Level was an emigrant noble, summoned to head an insurrection that had broken out in La Vendee—others, that he was a spy—others, that he was a general officer, who was visiting the coast privately—others, that he was a prince of the blood, who was travelling incognito. Meanwhile the progress of the packet, which oc- THE ANTIQUARY^ 1S9 casioned such speculation, towards its destined own- er at Monkbarns, had been perilous and interrupted. The bearer, Davie Mailsetter, as little resembling a bold dragoon as could well be imagined, was carried onwards towards Monkbarns by the poney, so long as the animal had in its recollection the crack of its usual instrument of chastisement, and the shout of the butcher’s boy. But feeling how Davie, whose short legs were unequal to maintain its balance, swung to and fro upon his back, the poney began to disdain further compliance with the intimations he had received. First, then, he slackened his pace to a walk. This was no point of quarrel between him and his rider, who had been* considerably discom- posed by the rapidity of his former motion, and who now took the opportunity of his abated pace to gnaw a piece of gingerbread which had been thrust into his hand by his mother, in order to reconcile this youthful emissary of the post-office to the discharge of his duty. By and by the crafty poney availed himself of this surcease of discipline to twitch the rein out of Davie’s hands, and apply himself to brouze on the grass by the side of the lane. Sorely astounded by these symptoms of self-willed rebellion, and afraid alike to sit or to fall, poor Davie lifted up his voice and wept aloud. The poney, hearing this pudder over his head, began apparently to think it would be best both for himself and Davie to return from whence they came, and accordingly commenced a retrograde movement towards Fairport. But as all retreats are apt to end in utter rout, so the steed, alarmed by the boy’s cries, and by the flapping of the reins, which dangled about his forefeet—finding also his nose turned homeward, began to set off at a rate which, if Davie kept the saddle, (a matter ex- tremely dubious,) would soon have presented him at Heukbane’s stable door, when at a turn of the road, an intervening auxiliary, in the shape of old Edie Ochiltree, caught hold of the rein, and stopped his farther proceeding. “ Wha’s aught ye, callant? what an a gate’s that to ride?” 160 THE ANTIQUARY. “I canna help it!—they ca’ me little Davie.” “ And where are you gaun?” “ I’m gaun to Monkbarns.’’ “ Stirra, this is no the road to Monkbarns. But Davie could only answer the expostulation with sighs and tears. Old Edie was easily moved to compassion where childhood was in the case. “ I wasna gaun that gate,” he thought, “ but it’s the best o’ my way o’ life that I canna be well out o’ my road. They’ll gie me quarters at Monkbarns readily aneugh, and I’ll e’en hirple awa’ there wi’ the wean, for it will knock it’s harns out, puir thing, if there’s no somebody to guide the poney. Sae ye hae a letter, hinny? will ye let me see’t?” “ I’m no gaun to let naebody see the letter,” blubbered the boy, “ till I gie’t to Mr. Nevill, for I am a faithful servant o’ the office—if it were nae for the poney.” “ Very right, my little man,” said Ochiltree, turn- ing the reluctant poney’s head towards Monkbarns, “ but we’ll guide him atween us, if he’s no a’ the sweerer.” Upon the very height of Kinprunes, to which Monkbarns had invited Lovel after their dinner, the Antiquary, once more reconciled to the once degrad- ed spot, was expatiating upon the topics of the scene- ry afforded for a description of Agricola’s camp at the dawn of morning, when his eye was caught by the appearance of the mendicant and his proteg6. “ What the devil!—here comes old Edie, bag and baggage, I think.” The beggar explained his errand, and Davie, who insisted upon a literal execution of his commission by going on to Monkbarns, was with difficulty pre- vailed upon to surrender the packet to its proper owner, although he met him a mile nearer than the place he had been directed to. “ But my minnie said, I maun be sure to get twenty shillings and five shil- lings for the postage, and ten shillings and sixpence for the express—there’s the paper.” THE ANTIQUARY. 161 “ Let me see—let me see,” said Oldbuck, putting on his spectacles, and examining the crumpled copy of regulations to which Davie appealed. “ Express per man and horse, one day, not to exceed ten shil- lings and sixpence. ’ One day? why, it’s not an hour—Man and horse? why, ’tis a monkey on a starved cat!” “ Father wad hae comehimsel,” said Davie, “on the muckle red mare, an ye wad hae bidden till the morn’s night.” “ Four-and-twenty hours after the regular date of delivery!—You little cockatrice egg, do you under- stand the art of imposition so early?” “ Hout, Monkbarns, dinna set your wit against a bairn,” said the beggar; “ mind the butcher risked his beast, and the wife her wean, and I am sure ten and sixpence is na ower muckle. Ye didna gang sae near wi’ Johnnie Howie, when” Lovel, who, sitting on the supposed Prcetorium, had glanced over the contents of the packet, now put an end to the altercation by paying Davie’s demand, and then turning to Mr. Oldbuck, with a look of much agitation, he excused himself from returning with him to Monkbarns that evening. “ I must in- stantly go to Fairport, and perhaps leave it on a mo- ment’s notice; your kindness, Mr. Oldbuck, I never can forget.” “No bad news, I hope?” said the Antiquary. “ Of a very chequered complexion,” answered his friend—•“ Farewell—in good or bad fortune I will not forget your regard.” “Nay, nay—stop, stop a moment. If—if—(making an effort)—if there be any pecuniary inconvenience —I have fifty—or a hundred guineas, at your ser- vice—till—till Whitsundaj—or, indeed, as long as you please.” “ I am much obliged, Mr. Oldbuck, but I am am- ply provided. Excuse me—I really can not sustain further conversation at present. I will write or see you, before I leave Fairport—that is, if I find my- 14# 162 THE AKTiqUAnr. self obliged to go.” So saying, he shook the Anti- quary’s hand warmly, turned from him, and walked rapidly towards the town, “ staying no longer ques- tion.” “ Veiy extraordinary, indeed,” said Oldbuck: “ but there’s something about this lad I can never fathom; and yet I can not for my heart think ill of him neither. I must go home and take off the fire in the Green Room, for none of my womankind will venture into it after twilight. “ And how am I to win hame?” blubbered the dis- consolate express. “ It’s a fine night,” said the Blue-gown, looking up to the skies; “ I had as gude gang back to the town, and take care o’ the wean.” “ Do so, do so, Edie;” and rummaging for some time in his huge waistcoat pocket till he found the object of his search, the Antiquary added, “ there’s sixpence to ye to buy sneeshin.”

CHAPTER XVI. notI amgiven bewitched me medicines with the to makerogue’s me company. love him, I’llIf thebe hang’d;rascal hasit could not be else. I have drunk medicines.”Second Part of Henry IV. Regular for a fortnight were the inquiries of the Antiquary at the veteran Caxon, whether he had heard what Mr. Lovel was about; and as regular were Caxon’s answers, “ that the town could learn naething about him whatevr, except that he had re- ceived anither muckle letter or twa frae the south, and that he was never seen on the plain stanes at a’.” “ How does he live, Caxon?” “ Ou, Mrs. Hadoway just dresses him a beef- steak, or a mutton-chop, or makes him some Friar’s chicken, or just what she likes hersel, and he eats it in the little red parlour off his bed-room. She canna THE ANTIQtTART. 163 get him to say that he likes ae thing better than anither; and she makes him tea in a morning, and he settles honourably wi’ her every week.” “ But dpes he never stir abroad?” “ He has clean gi’en up walking, and he sits a’ day in his room reading or writing; a hantle letters he has written, but he wadna put them into our post house, though Mrs. Hadoway offered to carry them hersel, but sent them a’ under ae cover to the she- riff, and it’s Mrs. Mailsetter’s belief that the sheriff sent his groom to put them into the post-office at Tannonburgh; its my puir thought that he jealoused their looking into his letters at Fairport; and weel had he need, for my puir daughter Jenny” “Tut, don’t plague me with your womankind, Caxon. About this poor young lad—Does he write nothing but letters?” “ Ou, ay—hale sheets o’ other things, Mrsr Hado- way says. She wishes muckle he could be gotten to take a walk; she thinks he’s but; looking very puirly, and his appetite’s clean gane; but he’ll no hear o’ ganging ower the door-stane—him that used to walk sae muckle too.” “ That’s wrong; I have a guess what he’s busy about; but he must not work too hard neither. I’ll go and see him this very day—he’s deep, doubtless, in the Caledoniad.” Having formed this manful resolution, Mr. Old- buck equipped himself for the expedition with his thick walking shoes and golden head cane, mutter- ing the while the words of Falstaff, which we have chosen for the motto of this chapter; for the Anti- quary was himself rather surprised at the degree of attachment which he could not but acknowledge he entertained for this stranger. A walk to Fairport had become somewhat of an adventure with Mr. Oldbuck, and one which he did not often care to undertake. He hated greetings in the market-place; and there were generally loiterers in the streets to persecute him either about the news 164 THE ANTIQUARY. of the day, or about some petty pieces of business. So upon this occasion, he had no sooner entered the streets of Fairport,than it was “ Good morrow, Mr. Oldbuck—a sight o' you’s gude for sair een—what d’ye think of the news in the Sun to-day?—they say the great attempt will be made in a fortnight.” “ I wish to the Lord it were made and over, that I might hear no more about it.” “ Monkbarns, your honour, I hope the plants gied satisfaction? and if ye wanted ony flower roots fresh frae Holland, or (this in a lower key) an anker or twa o’ Cologne gin, ane o’ our brigs cam in yestreen.” “ Thank ye, thank ye—no occasion at present, Mr. Crabtree,” said the Antiquary, pushing resolutely onward. “ Mr. Oldbuck,” said the town clerk, (a more im- portant, person, who came in front and ventured to stop the old gentleman,) “ the provost, understand- ing you were in town, begs on no account that you’ll quit it without seeing him; he wants to speak to ye about bringing the water frae the Farewell-spring through a part o’ your lands.” “What the deuce!—have they nobody’s land but mine to cut and carve on? I won’t consent, tell them.” “ And the provost,” said the clerk, going on, “ and the council, w ad be agreeable that you should hae the auld stanes at Donagild’s chapel, that ye was wussing to hae.” “ Eh?—what?—Oho, that’s another story—Well, I’ll call upon the provost, and we’ll talk about it.” < “ But ye maun speak your mind on’t forthwith, Monkbarns, if ye want the stones; for Deacon Harle- walls thinks the carved-through stanes might be put with advantage on the front of the new council house —that is, the twa cross-legged figures that the cal- lants used to ca’ Robin and Bobbin, ane on ilka door- cneek; and the other stane, that they ca’d Ailie Dai- lie, abune the door. It will be very tastefu’, the dea. an says, and just in the style of modern Gothic.” “ Lord deliver me from this Gothic generation!— THE ANTIQUARY. 165 A monument of a knight-templar on each side of a Grecian porch, and a Madonna on the top of it!”— O crimini! Well, tell the provost I wish to have the stones, and we’ll not differ about the water-course. It’s lucky I happened to come this way to day.” They parted mutually satisfied; but the wily clerk had most reason to exult in the dexterity he had dis--' played, since the whole proposal of an exchange be- tween the monuments, (which the council had deter- mined to remove as a nuisance, because they en- croached three feet upon the public road) and the privi- lege of conveying the water to the burgh through the estate of Monkbarns, was an idea which had origi- nated with himself upon the pressure of the moment. Through these various entanglements, Monkbarns (to use the'phrase by which he w as distinguished in the country) made his way at length to Mrs. Hadoway’s. This good woman was the widow of a late clergy- man at Fairport, who had been reduced by her hus- band’s untimely death, to that state of straitened and embarrassed circumstances in which the u idows of the Scotch clergy are too often found. The tene- ment which she occupied, and the furniture of which she was possessed, gave her the means of letting a part of her house, and as Lovel had been a quiet, regular, and profitable lodger, and had qualified the necessary intercourse which they had together with a great deal of gentleness and courtesy, Mrs. Hado- way, not, perhaps, much used to such kindly treat- ment, had become greatly attached to her lodger, and was profuse in every sort of personal attention which circumstances permitted her to render him. To cook a dish somewhat better than ordinary for “ the poor young gentleman’s dinner;” to exert her interest with those who remembered her husband «r loved her for her own sake and his, in order to pro-r „ cure scarce vegetables, or something which her sim-*' plicity supposed might tempt her lodger’s appetite, was a labour in which she delighted, although>she anxiously concealed it from the person who was its 166 THE ANTiqUARY, object. She did not adopt this secrecy of benevo-- lence to avoid the laugh of those who might suppose tha^an oval face and dark eyes, with a clear brown complexion, though belonging to a woman of five- and-forty,and enclosed withiifa widow’s close-drawn pinners, might possibly still aim at making conquests; for, to say truth, such a ridiculous suspicion having never entered into her own head, she could not an- ticipate its having birth in that of any one else. But she concealed her attention solely out of delicacy to her guest, whose power of repaying them she doubt- ed as much as she believed in his inclination to do so, and in his feeling extreme pain at leaving any of her civilities unrequited. She now opened the door to Mr. Oldbuck, and her surprise at seeing him brought tears into her eyes, which she could hardly restrain. “ I am glad to see you, sir—I am very glad to see you. My poor young gentleman is, I am afraid, very unwell; and O, Mr. Oldbuck, he’ll see neither doc- tor, nor minister, nor writer! And think what it would be, if, as my poor Mr. Hadoway used to say a man were to die without advice of the three learn-r ed faculties.” “ Much better than with them,” grumbled the cynical Antiquary. “ I tell you, Mrs. Hadoway, the clergy live by our sins, the medical faculty by our diseases, and the law gentry by our misfortunes.” “ O fie, Monkbarns, to hear the like o’ that frae you! But ye’ll walk up and see the poor young lad?—hegh, sirs, sae young and weel-favoured—and day by day he has eat less and less, and now he hardly touches ony thing, only just pits a bit on the plate, to make fashion, and his poor cheek has turned every day thinner and paler, sae that he now really looks as auld as me, that might be his mother—no that 1 might be just that neither, but something very near it.” “ Why does he not take some exerciser” said Old- buck. THE ANTIQUARY. 167 “ I think we have persuaded him to do that, for he has bought a horse from Gibbie Golightly, the galloping groom. A gude judge o’ horse-flesh Gib- bie tauld our lass that he was—for he offered him a beast he thought wad answer him weel aneugh, as he was a bookish man, but Mr. Level wadna look at it, and bought ane might serve the master o’ Mor- phie—they keep it at the Graeme’s Arms, ower the street—and he rode out yesterday morning and this morning before breakfast—But winna ye walk up to his room?” “ Presently, presently—but has he no visiters?-3’ “ O dear, Mr. Oldbuck, not ane; if he wadna re- ceive them when he was well and sprightly, what chance is there of ony body in Fairport looking in upon him now?” “ Ay, ay, very true—I should have been surprised had it been otherwise—come show me up stairs, Mrs. Hadoway, lest I make a blunder, and go where I should not.” The good landlady showed her narrow staircase to Mr. Oldbuck, warning him of every turn, and lamenting all the while that he was laid under the necessity of mounting up so high. At length, she gently tapped at the door of her guest’s parlour. “ Come in,” said Lovel; and Mrs. Hadoway usher- ed in the Laird of Monkbarns. The little parlour was neat and clean, and decently furnished—ornamented too by such reliques of her youthful arts of sempstresship as Mrs. Hadoway had retained; but it was close, overheated, and as it ap- peared to Oldbuck, an unhealthy situation for a young person in delicate health, an observation which ripened his resolution touching a project that had already occurred to him in Lovel’s behalf. With a writing table before him, on which lay a quantity of books and papers, Lovel was seated on a couch, in his night-gown and slippers. Oldbuck was shocked at the change which had taken place in his personal appearance. His cheek and brow had assumed a 168 THE ANTIQUARY. Ly white, except where a round bright spot of hecticu red formed a strong and painful contrast, to- tally different from the general cast of hale and hardy complexion which had. formerly overspread, and somewhat embrowned his countenance. Oldbuck observed, that the dress he wore belonged to a deep mourning suit, and a coat of the same colour hung on a chair near to him. As the Antiquary entered, Lovel arose and came forward to welcome him. “ This is very kind,’’ said he, shaking him by the hand, and thanking him warmly for his visit; “ this is very kind, and has anticipated a visit with which I intended to trouble you—you must know I have be- come a horseman lately.” “ I understand as much from Mrs. Hadoway—I only hope, my good young friend, you have been fortunate in a quiet horse—I myself inadvertently bought one from the said Gibbie Golightly, which brute ran two miles on end with me after a pack of hounds, with which I had no more to do than the last year’s snow, and after affording infinite amuse- ment, I suppose, to the whole hunting field, he was so good as to deposit me in a dry ditch. I hope yours is a more peaceful beast?’’ “ I hope at least we shall make our excursions on a. better plan of mutual understanding.” “ That is to say, you think yourself a good horse- man.” “ I would not willingly confess myself a very bad one.” “ No; all you young fellows think that would be equal to calling yourselves tailors at once—But have you had experience?—for, credt experto, a horse in a passion is no joker.” “ Why, I should be sorry to boast myself as a great horseman, but when I acted as aid-de camp to Sir in the cavalry action at , last year, I saw many better cavaliers than myself dismounted.” Ah! you have looked in the face of the grisly god of arms, then—you are acquainted with the THE AHTiqUARY. 169 frowns of Mars armipotent—That experience fills up the measure of your qualifications for the epopee. The Britons, however, you will remember, fought in chariots—covinarii is the phrase of Tacitus—you re- collect the fine description of their dashing among the Roman infantry—although the historian tells us how ill the rugged face of the ground was calculated for equestrian combat—and truly, upon the whole, what sort of chariots could be driven in Scotland anywhere but upon turnpike roads, has been to me always matter of amazement. And well now—has the Muse visited )ou.?—Have you got any thing to show me.” u My time,” said Lovel, with a glance at his black dress, “ has been less pleasantly employed.” “ The death of a friend?” “ Yes, Mr. Oldbuck; of almost the only friend I could ever boast of possessing.” “ Indeed? well, young man, be comforted—to have lost a friend by death while your mutual re- gard was warm and unchilled, while the tear can drop unembittered by any painful recollection of coldness, or distrust, or treachery, is perhaps an escape from a more heavy dispensation. Look round you—how few do j ou see grow old in the affections of those with whom their early friendships were formed!—our sources of common pleasure gradually dry up as we journey on through the vale of Bacha, and we hew out to ourselves other reservoirs from which the first companions of our pilgrimage are excluded—jealousies, rivalries, envy, intervene to separate others from our side, until none remain but those who are connected' with us, rather by habit than predilection, or who, allied more in blood than in disposition, keep the old man company in his life, that they may not be forgotten at his death— Hac data poena din viventibus— Ah! Mr. Lovel, if it be your lot to reach the chill, cloudy, and comfortless evening of life, you will re- VOL. I. 15 170 THE ANTIQUARY. member the sorrows of your youth as the light, shadowy clouds that intercepted lor a moment the beams of the sun when it was rising. But I cram these words into your ears against the stomach of your sense.” “ I am sensible of your kindness,” answered the youth, “ but the wound that is of recent infliction must always smart severely, and I should be little comforted under my present affliction—forgive me for saying so—by the conviction that life had nothing in reserve for me but a train of successive sorrows. And, permit me to add, you, Mr. Oldbuck, have least reason of many men to take so gloomy a view of life—you have a competent and easy fortune— are generally respected—may, in your own phrase, vacare musis, indulge yourself in the researches to which your taste addicts you—you may form your own society without doors, and within you have the affectionate and sedulous attention of the nearest re- latives.” “ Why, yes; the womankind—for womankind— are, thanks to my training, very civil and tractable— do not disturb me in my morning studies—creep across the floor with the stealthy pace of a cat, when it suits me to take a nap in my easy chair after din- ner or tea. All this is very well—but I want some- thing to exchange ideas with—something to talk to.” “ Then why do you not invite your nephew. Cap- tain M‘Intyre, who is mentioned by every one as a fine, spirited young fellow, to become a member of your family?” “ Who? my nephew Hector?—the Hotspur of the North?—Why, Heaven love you, I would as soon invite a firebrand into my stackyard—he’s an Al- manzor, a Charmont—has a highland pedigree as long as his claymore, and a claymore as long as the High-street of Fairport, which he unsheathed upon the surgeon the last time he was at Fairport—1 ex- pect him here one of these days, but I will keep him at staff’s end, I promise you—He an inmate of my THE ANTIQUARY. 171 house! to make my very chairs and tables tremble at his brawls!—No, no. I’ll none of Hector M‘Intyre. But, hark ye, Lovel, you are a quiet, gentle-temper- ed lad, had not you better set up your staff at Monk- barns for a month or two, since I conclude you do not immediately intend to leave this country? I will have a door opened out to the garden-—it will cost but a trifle—there is the space for an old one which was condemned long ago—by which said door you may pass and repass into the Green Chamber at pleasure, so you will not interfere with the old man, nor he with you. As for your fare, Mrs. Hadow'ay tells me you are, as she terms it, very moderate of your mouth, so you will not quarrel with my hum- ble table. Your washing” “ Hold, my dear Mr. Oldbuck,” interposed Lo- vel, unable to repress a smile; “ and before your hospitality settles all my accommodations, let me thank you most sincerely for so kind an offer—it is not at present in my power to accept of it; but very likely, before I bid adieu to Scotland, I shall find an opportunity to pay you a visit of some length.” Mr. Oldbuek’s countenance fell. “ Why, I thought I had hit on the very arrangement that would suit us both, and who knows what might hap- pen in the long run, and whether we might ever part? Why, I am master of my acres, man—there is the advantage of being descended from a man of more sense than pride—they can not oblige me to transmit my goods, chatties, and heritages, any way but as I please. No string of substitute heirs of entail, as emp- ty and unsubstantial as the morsels of paper strung to the train of a boy’s kite, to cumber my flight of inclination, and my humours of predilection. Well I see you won’t be tempted at present—But Gale- donia goes on, I hope?” relinquishing“ O, certainly!” a plan said so hopeful.” Lovel, “ I cannot think of ly “upward; L is? indeed,” for, though said the shrewd Antiquary, and acute looking enough grave- in 172 THE ANTIQUARY. estimating the variety of plans formed by others, he had a very natural, though rather disproportioned, good opinion of the importance of those which ori- ginated with himself—“ It is indeed one of those undertakings which, if achieved with spirit equal to that which dictates its conception, may redeem from the charge of frivolity the literature of the present generation.” Here he was interrupted by a knock at the room door, which introduced a letter for Mr. Lovel. The servant waited, Mrs. Hadoway said, for an an- swer. “ You are concerned in this matter, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Lovel, after glancing over the billet; and handed it to the Antiquary as he spoke. It was a letter from Sir Arthur Wardour, couched in extremely civil language, regretting that a fit of the gout had prevented his hitherto showing Mr. Lovel the attentions to which his conduct, during a late perilous occasion, had so well entitled him— apologizing for not paying his respects in person, but hoping Mr. Lovel would dispense with that cere- mony, and be a member of a small party which pro- posed to visit the ruins of St. Ruth’s priory on the following day, and afterwards to dine and spend the evening at Knockwinnock castle. Sir Arthur con- cluded with saying, that he had sent to request the Monkbarns family to join the party of pleasure which he thus proposed. The place of rendezvous w^as fixed at a turnpike gate, which was about an equal distance from all the points from which the company were to assemble. “ What shall we do?” said Lovel, looking at the Antiquary, but pretty certain of the part he would take. “ Go, man—we’ll go, by all means. Let me see, it will cost a post chaise though, which will hold you and me, and Mary MTntyre, very well, and the other womankind may go to the manse, and you can come out in the chaise to Monkbarns, as I will take it for the day.” THE ANTIQUARY. 173 “ Why, I rather think I had better ride.” “ True, true, I forgot your Bucephalus. You are a foolish lad, by the bye; you should stick to eighteen- pence a side, if you will trust any creature’s legs in preference to your own.” “ Why, as the horses have the advantage of moving considerably faster, and are, besides, two pair to one, I own I incline” “ Enough said-enough said—do as you please. Well, then, I’ll bring either Grizel or the minister, for I love to have my full pennyworth out of post- horses—and we meet at Tirlingen turnpike on Fri- day, at twelve o’clock precisely.” And with this agreement the friends separated.

CHAPTER XVII. “ Of seats” they tell “ where priests, ’mid tapers dim. ToBreathed scenes the like warm these prayer, the fainting or tuned soul theretired; midnight hymn; RevengeBy Pity soothed, and Anger Remorse in these lost cells half expired; her fears, And soften’d Pride dropp’d penitential tears.”Ci'abb’s Borough. The morning of Friday was as serene and beauti- ful as if no pleasure party had been intended; and that is a rare event, whether in novel writing or real life. Level, who felt the genial influence of the weatljer, and rejoiced at the prospect of once more meeting with Miss Wardour, trotted forward to the place of rendezvous with better spirits than he had for some time enjoyed. His prospects seemed in many respects to open and brighten before him, and hope, although breaking like the morning sun through clouds and showers, appeared now about to illumi- nate the path before him. He was, as might have been expected from this state of spirits, first at the place of meeting, and, as might also have been anti- cipated, his looks were so intently directed towards 15* m THE ANTIQUARY. the road from Knockwinnock castle, that he was only apprized of the arrival of the Monkbarns division by the gee-hupping of the postillion, as the post chaise lumbered up behind him. In this vehicle were pent up, first, the stately figure of Mr. Oldbuck himself; secondly, the scarce less portly person of the Rev. Mr. Blattergowl, minister of Trotcosey, the parish in which Monkbarns and Knockwinnock were both situated. The reverend gentleman was equipped in a buzz wig, upon the top of which was an equilateral cocked hat. This was the paragon of the three yet remaining wigs of the parish, which differed, as Monkbarns used to remark, like the three degrees of comparison—Sir Arthur’s ramilies being the posi- tive, his own bob-wig the comparative, and the over- whelming grizzle of the worthy clergyman figuring as the superlative. The superintendant of these antique garnitures, deeming, or affecting to deem, that he could not w ell be absent on an occasion which assembled all three together, had seated himself on the board behind the carriage, “ just to be in the way in case they wanted a touch before the gentle- men sate down to dinner.” Between the two stately figures of Monkbarns and the clergyman was stuck, by wav of bodkin, the slim form of Mary MTntyre, her aunt having preferred a visit to the manse, and a social chat with Miss Beckie Blattergowl, to inves- tigating the ruins of the priory of Saint Ruth. As greetings passed between the members of the Monkbarns party and Mr. Lovel, the baronet’s car- riage, an open barouche, swept onward to the place of appointment, making, with its smoking bays, smart drivers, arms-blazoned pannels, and a brace of out- riders, a strong contrast with the battered vehicle and broken-w inded hacks which had brought thither the Antiquary and his followers. The principal seat of the carriage was occupied by Sir Arthur and his daughter. At the first glance which passed be- twixt Miss Wardcur and Lovel, her colour rose considerably; but she had apparently made up her THE ANTIQUARY. 175 mind to receive him as a friend, and only as such, and there was equal composure and courtesy in the mode of her reply to his fluttered salutation. Sir Arthur halted the barouche to shake his preserver kindly by the hand, and intimate the pleasure he had on this opportunity of returning him his personal thanks; then mentioned to him, in a tone of slight introduction, “ Mr. Dousterswivel, Mr. Lovel.” Mr. Lovel took the necessary notice of the Ger- man adept, who occupied the front seat of the car- riage, which is usually conferred upon dependants or inferiors. The ready grin and supple inclination with which his salutation, though slight, was an- swered by the foreigner, increased the internal dis- like which Lovel had already conceived towards him; and it was plain, from the lower of the Anti- quary’s shaggy eyebrow, that he too looked with displeasure on this addition to the company. Little more than distant greeting passed among the mem- bers of the party, until, having rolled on for about three miles beyond the place at which they met, the carriages at length stopped at the sign of the Four- Horse-shoes, a small hedge inn, where Caxon hum- bly opened the door, and let down the step of the hack- chaise, while the inmates of the barouche were, by their more courtly attendants, assisted to leave their equipage. Here renewed greetings passed; the young ladies shook hands; and Oldbuck, completely in his ele- ment, placed himself as guide and Ciceron6 at the head of the party, who were now to advance upon foot towards the object of their curiosity. He took care to detain Lovel close behind him as the best listener of the party, and occasionally glanced a word of explanation and instruction to Miss Wardourand Mary MTntyre who followed next in order. The baronet and the clergyman he rather avoided, as he was aware that both of them conceived they under- stood such matters as w ell, or better than he did; and Dousterswivel, beside that he looked on him 176 THE ANTIQUARY. as a charlatan, was so nearly connected with his ap- prehended loss in the stock of the mining company, that he coaid not abide the sight of him. These two latter satellites, therefore, attended upon the orb of Sir Arthur, to whom, moreover, as the most important person of the society, they were naturally induced to attach themselves. It frequently happens that the most beautiful points of Scottish scenery lie hidden in some se- questered dell, and that you may travel through the country in every direction without being aware of your vicinity to what is well worth seeing, unless in- tention or accident carry you to the very spot. This is particularly the case in the country around Fair- port, which is, generally speaking, open, unenclosed, and bare. But here and there the progress or rills, of small rivers, has formed dells, glens, or, as they are provincially termed, dens, on whose high and rocky banks, trees and shrubs of all kinds find a shel- ter, and grow with a luxuriant profusion, which is more gratifying, as it forms an unexpected contrast with the general face of the country. This was emi- nently the case with the approach to the ruins of Saint Ruth, which was for some time merely a sheep track, along the side of a steep and bare hill. By de- grees, however, as this path descended, and winded round the hill side, trees began to appear, at first singly, stunted and blighted, with locks of wool upon their trunks, and their roots hollowed out into re- cesses, in which the sheep love to repose themselves, —a sight much more gratifying to the eye of an ad- mirer of the picturesque than to that of a planter or forester. By and by the trees formed groups, fringed on the edges, and filled up in the middle with thorns and hazel bushes; and at length these groups closed so much together, that, although a broad glade open- ed here and there under their boughs, or a small patch of bog or heath occurred which had refused nourishment to the seed which they sprinkled round, and consequently remained open and waste, the THE ANTIQUARY. 177 scene might on the whole be termed decidedly wood- land. The sides of the valley began to approach each other more closely; the rush of a brook was heard below, and, between the intervals afforded by open- ings in the natural wood, its waters were seen hurl- ing clear and rapid under their sylvan canopy. Oldbuck now took upon himself the full authority of Ciceror.fe, and anxiously directed the company not to go a foot breadth off’ the track which he pointed out to them if they wished to enjoy in full perfec- tion what they came to see. “ You are happy in me for a guide, Miss Wardour,1’ exclaimed the ve- teran, waving his hand and head in cadence as he repeated, with emphasis, " I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle,And every or bushybosky dell, bower of fromthis wild side wood.to side.” —Ah! deuce take it!—that spray of a bramble has demolished all Caxon’s labours, and nearly canted my wig into the stream—so much for recitations, hor de propos” “ Never mind, my dear sir,” said Miss Wardour, “ y°u have your faithful attendant ready to repair suchpear awith disaster it as whenrestored It happens,to its original and whensplendour, you ap- I will carry on the quotation: And“ So yetsinks anon the repairsday-star his in drooping the ocean head. bed. AndFlames tricks on thehis beams,forehead” and with new spangled ore “ O, enough, enough!’’ answered Oldbuck, “ I ought to have known what it was to give you advan- tage over me—but here is what will stop your ca- reer of satire, for you are an admirer of nature, I know.” In fact, when they had followed him through a beach in a low, ancient, and ruinous wall, they came suddenly upon a scene equally unexpected and in- teresting. They stood pretty high upon the side of the glen 178 THE ANTIQUARY. which had suddenly opened into a sort of amphi- theatre to give room for a pure and profound lake of a few acres extent, and a space of level ground around it. The banks then arose every where steep- ly, and in some places were varied by rocks—in others covered with the copse which run up, fea- thering their sides lightly and irregularly, and break- ing the uniformitv of the green pasture ground. Be- neath, the lake discharged itself into the huddling and tumultuous brook, which had been their compa- nion since they had entered the glen. At the point at which it issued from “ its parent lake,’’ stood the ruins which they had come to visit. They were not of great extent; but the singular beauty, as well as wild and sequestered character of the spot on which they were situated, gave them an interest and impor- tance superior to that w hich attaches itself to archi- tectural remains of greater consequence, but placed near to ordinary houses, and possessing less romantic accompaniments. The eastern window of the church remained emire, with all its ornaments and tracery work, and the sides upheld by light flying buttresses, whose airy support, detached from the wall against which they were placed, and ornamented with pin- nacles and carved work, gave a variety and lightness to the building. The roof and western end of the church were completely ruinous, but the latter ap- peared to have made one side of a square, of which the ruins of the conventual buildings formed the other two, and the gardens a fourth. The side of these, which overhung the brook, was partly founded on a steep and precipitous rock; for the place had been occasionally turned to military purposes, and had been taken, with great slaughter, during Mon- trose’s wars. The ground formerly occupied by the garden was still marked by a few1 orchard trees. At a greater distance from the buildings were de- tached oaks, and elms, and chesnuts, growing singly, which had attained great size. The rest ol the space between the ruins and the hill was a close- THE ANTIQUARY. 179 crept sward, which the daily pasture of the sheep kept in much finer order than if it had been subject- ed to the scythe and broom. The whole scene had a repose, which was still and affecting without being monotonous. The dark, deep bason, in w'hich the clear blue lake reposed, reflecting the water-lilies which grew on its surface, and the trees which here and there threw their arms from the banks, was finely contrasted with the haste and tumult of the brook which broke away from the outlet, as if es- caping from confinement, and hurried down the glen, wheeling around the base of the rock on which the ruins were situated, and brawling in foam and fury wuth every shelve and stone which obstructed its passage. A similar contrast was seen between the level green meadow, in which the ruins were si- tuated, and the large timber trees which were scat- tered over it, compared with the precipitous banks which arose at a short distance around, partly Iringed with light and feathery underwood, partly rising in steeps clothed with purple heath, and partly more ab- ruptly elevated into fronts of gray rock, chequered with lichen, and with those hardy plants which find root even in the most arid crevices of the crags. “ There was the retreat of learning in the days of darkness, Mr. Lovel,” said Oidbuck. around whom the company had now grouped themselves, while they admired the unexpected opening of a prospect so romantic; “ there reposed the sages who were aweary of the world, and devoted either to that which was to come, or to the service of the genera- tions who should follow them in this. I will shovr you presently the library—see that stretch of wall with square-shafted windows—there it existed, stored, as an old manuscript in my possession assures me, with five thousand volumes—and here 1 might well take up the lamentation of the learned Leland, who, re- gretting the downfall of the conventual libraries, ex- claims, like Uachael weeping for her children, that if the papal laws, decrees, decretals, clementines, and 180 THE ANTIQUARY. other such drugs of the devil, yea, if Heytesburgs’ sophisms, Porphyrs’ universals, Aristotles5 logic, and Dunse’s divinity, with such other lousy leger- demains, (begging your pardon, Miss Wardour,) and fruits of the bottomless pit, had leapt out of our libraries, for the accommodation of grocers, candle-makers, soap-sellers, and other worldly oc- cupiers, we might have been therewith contented. But to put our ancient chronicles, our noble histo- ries, our learned commentaries, and natural muni- ments, to such offices of contempt and subjection, has greatly degraded our nation, and showed our- selves dishonoured in the eyes of posterity to the utmost stretch of time. O negligence, most unfriend- ly to our land!” 1‘ And, O, John Knox,” said the baronet, “ through whose influence, and under whose auspices, the patri- otic task w as accomplished!” The Antiquary, somewhat in the situation of a woodcock caught in his own springe, turned short around and coughed, to excuse a slight blush as he mustered his answer—“ As to the apostle of Scot- tish Reformation”— But Miss Wardour broke in to interrupt a conver- sation so dangerous. “ Pray, who was the author you quoted, Mr. Oldbuck'r” “The learned Leland, Miss Wardour, who lost his senses on witnessing the destruction of the con- ventual libraries in England.” “ Now I think his misfortune may have saved the rationality-of some modern antiquaries, which would certainly have been drow ned if so vast a lake of learn- ing had not been diminished by draining. ” Well, thank heaven, there is no danger now'—they have hardly left us a spoonful to perform the dire feat.” So saying, he led the way down the bank, by- a steep but secure path, which soon placed them on the verdant meadow where the ruins stood. “ There they lived,” continued the Antiquary,'*1 with nought THE ANTIQUARY. 181 to do but to spend their time in investigating points of remote antiquity, transcribing manuscripts, and composing new works for the information of pos- terity.” “ And,” added the baronet, “in exercising the rites of devotion with a pomp and ceremonial, worthy of the office of the priesthood.” “ And if Sir Robert’s excellence will permit,” said the German, with a low bow, “ the monksh might alsho make de vary curious experiment in deir la- boraties, both in chemistry and magia naturalist “I think,” said the clergyman, “ they would have enough to do in collecting the tiends of the parson- age and vicarage of three good parishes.” “ And all,” added Miss Wardour, nodding to the Antiquary, “ withoutinterruption from womankind.” “ True, my fair foe,” said Oldbuck, “ this was a paradise where no Eve was admitted, and we may wonder the rather how the good fathers came to lose it.” With such criticisms on the occupations of those by whom the ruins had been formerly possessed, they wandered for some time from one moss-grown shrine to another, under the guidance of Oldbuck, who explained, with much plausibility, the ground- plan of the edifice, and read, and expounded to the company, the various mouldering inscriptions which yet were to be traced upon the tombs of the dead, or under the vacant niches of the sainted images. “ What is the reason,” at length Miss Wardour asked the Antiquary, “ why tradition has preserved to us such meagre accounts of the inmates of these stately edifices, raised with such expense of labour and taste, and whose owners were in their times personages of such awful power and importance? The meanest tower of a freebooting baron, or squire, who lived by his lance and broadsword, is consecrated by its appropriate legend, and the shepherd will tell you with accuracy the name and feats of its inhab- itants; but ask a countryman concerning these beau- •vol. i. 16 182 'rH£ ANTIQUARY. tiful and extensive remains—these towers, and arch- es, and buttresses, and shafted windows, reared at such cost, three words fill up his answer—‘ they were made by the monks lang syne.’ ” “ The question was something puzzling: Sir Ar- thur looked upward, as if hoping to be inspired with an answer—Oldbuck shoved back his wig—the cler- gyman was of opinion that his parishioners were too deeply impressed with the true presbyterian doctrine to preserve any records concerning the papistical cumberers of the land, off-shoots as they were of the great overshadowing tree of iniquity, whose roots are in the bowels of the seven hills of abomination— Lovel thought the question was best resolved by con- sidering what are the events which leave the deep- est impression on the mind of the common people— “ These,” he -contended, “ were not such as resem- ble the gradual progress of a fertilizing river, but the headlong and precipitous fury of some porten- tous flood. The eras by which the vulgar compute time have always reference to some period of fear and tribulation, and they date by a tempest, an earth- quake, or burst of civil commotion. When such are the facts most alive in the memory of the com- mon people, we can not wonder,” he concluded, that the ferocious warrior is remembered, and the peaceful abbots are abandoned to forgetfulness and oblivion.” “ If you pleashe, gentlemans and ladies, and ashk- ing pardon of Sir Arthur, and Miss Wardour, and this worthy clergytnansh, and my goot friend Mr. Oldenbuck, who is my countrymansh, and of goot young Mr. Lofel also, I think it is all owing to de hand of glory.” “ The hand of what?” exclaimed Oldbuck. “ De hand of glory, my goot Master Oldenbuck, which is a vary great and terrible secrets—which de monksh used to conceal their treasures when they Were friven from their cloisters by what you call de Reform.” THE ANTIQUARY. 183 ‘‘ Ay, indeed! tell us about that,” said Oldbuck, “ for these are secrets worth knowing.” “ Why, my goot Master 01denbuck,you will only laugh at me—But de hand of glory is vary well known! n de countries where your worthy progenitors did live—and it is a hand cut off from a dead man, as has been hanged for murther, and dried very nice in de shmoke of juniper wood, and if you put a little of what you call yew wid your juniper, it will not be any better—that is, it will not be no worse—then you do take something of de fatsh of de bear, and of de badger, and of de great eber, as you call de grand boar, and of de little suckling child as has not been christened, (for dat is very essentials,) and you do make a candle, and put it into de hand of glory at de proper hour and minute, and with the proper cere- moftish, and he who saeksh for treasuresh shall never find none at all.” “ I dare take my corporal oath of that conclusion,” said the Antiquary. “ And was it the custom, Mr. Dousterswivel, in Westphalia, to make use of this elegant candelabrum?” “ Alwaysh, Mr. Oldenbuck, when you did not want nobody to talk of nothing you wash doing about—And de monksh alwaysh did this when they did hide their church plates, and their great chalices, and de rings, wid very preshious shtones and jewels.” “ But, notwithstanding, you knights of the Rosy Cross have means, no doubt, of breaking the spell, and discovering what the poor monks have put them- selves to so much trouble to conceal?” “ Ah! goot Mr. Oldenbuck,” replied the adept, shaking his head mysteriously, “ you was very hard to believe, but if you had seen de great huge pieces of de plate so massive. Sir Arthur—so fine fashion. Miss Wardour—and de silver cross dat we did find (dat was Schroepfer and my own self) for de Herr Freygraff, as you call de Baron Von Blunderhaus, I do believe you would have believed then.” u Seeing is believing indeed—But what was your 184 THB ANTIQUARY. art—what was your mystery, Mr. Dousterswivel?- “ Aha, Mr. Oldenbuck, dat is my little secret, mine goot sir—you shall fbrgife me that I not tell that—But I will tell you dere are various ways—yes, indeed, dere is de dream dat you dream tree times, dat is a vary goot way.” “ I am glad ot that,” said Oldbuck; “ I have a friend (with a side-glance to Lovel) who is peculiar- ly favoured by the visits of Queen Mab.” “ Den dere is de sympathies, and de antipathies, and de strange properties and virtues natural of di- vers herb, and of de little divining rod.” “ I would gladly rather see some of these wonders than hear of them,” said Miss Wardour. “ Ah, but my much-honoured young lady, this is not de time to do de great wonder of finding all de church’s plate and treasure; but to oblige you, and Sir Arthur, my patron, and de reverend clergymans, and goot Mr. Oldenbuck, and young Mr. Lofel, who is a very’’ goot young gentleman also, I will show you dat it is possible, a vary possible, to discover de spring of water, and de little fountain hidden in de ground, without any mattock, or spade, or dig at all.” “ Umph!” quoth the Antiquary, “ I have heard of that conundrum. That will be no very productive art in our country—you should carry that property to Spain or Portugal, and turn it to good account.” “ Ah, my goot Mr. Oldenbuck, dere is de Inquisi- tion, and de Auto-da-fee—they would burn me, who am but a simple philosopher, for one great conjuror.” “ They would cast away their coals, then,” said Oldbuck; “ but,” continued he, in a whisper to Lov- el, “ were they to pillory him for one of the most impudent rascals that ever wagged a tongue, they would square the punishment more accurately with his deserts. But let us see—I think he is about to show us some of his legerdemain.” In truth, the German was now got to a little copse- thicket at some distance from the ruins, where he af- fected busily to search for such a wand as should suit THE ANTIQUARY. 185 the purpose of his mystesy; and a Her) 'cutting, and examining, and rejecting several, he at length pro- vided himself with a small twig of hazel terminating in a forked end, which he pronounced to possess the virtue proper for the experiment that he was about to exhibit. Holding the forked ends of the wand each between a finger and thumb, and thus keeping the red upright, he proceeded to pace the ruined aisles and cloisters, followed by the rest of the com- pany in admiring procession. “ I believe dere was no waters here,” said the adept when he had made the round of several of the buildings, without per- ceiving any of those indications which he pretended to expect—■“ I believe those Scotch monksh did find the water too cold for de climate, and alwaysh drank de goot comfortable Rhine wine-!—but, aha! see there.” Accordingly, the assistants observed the rod to turn in his fingers, although he pretended to hold it very tight. “ Dere is water hereabout, sure enough,”—and, turning this way and that way, as the agitation of the divining rod seemed to increase or diminish, he at length advanced into the midst of a vacant and roofless enclosure, which had been the kitchen of the priory, when the rod twisted itself so as to point almost straight downwards. “ Here is de place,” said the adept, “ and if you do not find de water here, I will give you all leave to call me an impodent knave.” “ I shall take that license,” whispered the Anti- quary to Lovel, “ whether the water is discovered or not.” A servant, who had come up with a basket of cold refreshments, was now despatched to a neighbouring forester’s hut for a mattock and pick-ax. The loose stones and rubbish being removed from the spot in- dicated by the German, they soon came to the sides of a regularly built well; and, when a few feet of rub- bish were cleared out by the assistance of the forest- er and his sons, the water began to rise rapidly, to the delight of the philosopher, the astonishment of THE ANTiqUARY. the ladies, Mr. Blattergwvl, and Sir Arthur, the surprise of Lbvel, and the confusion of the incredu- lous Antiquary. He did not fail, however, to enter his protest in Level’s ear against the miracle. “This is a mere trick,” he said; “the rascal had made himself sure of the existence of this old well, by some means or other, before he played off this mys- tical piece of jugglery. Mark what he talks of next. I am much mistaken if this is not intended as a pre- lude to some more serious fraud; see how the, rascal assumes consequence, and plumes himself upon the credit of his success, and how poor Sir Arthur takes in the tide of nonsense which he is delivering to him as principles of occult science!” “ You do see, my goot patron, you do see, my goot ladies, you do see, worthy Dr. Bladderhowl, and even Mr. Lofel and Mr. Oldenbuck may see, if they do wrill to see, how art has no enemy at all but ignorance. Look at this little slip of hazel nuts—it is fit for nothing at all but to whip de little child!”—• (“ I would choose a cat and nine tails for your occa- sion,” whispered Oldbuck apart,)—“ and put in the hands of a philosopher—paf! it makes de grand dis- covery. But this is nothing, Sir Arthur—nothing at all, worthy Dr. Botherhowl—nothing at all, ladies— nothing at all, young Mr. Lofel and good Mr. Old- enbuck, to what art can do. Ah! if there was any man that had de spirit and de courage, I would*how him better things than de well of water—I would show him” “ And a little money would be necessary also, would it not?” said the Antiquary. “ '■'h!. one trifle, not worth talking about, might he ;es,” answered the adept. “ x , jht as much,” rejoined the Antiquary dryly; “ and I, in the mean while, without any di- vining rod, will show you an excellent venison pasty, and a bottle of London particular Maderia, and I think that wall match all that Mr. Dousterswivel’s .art is like to exhibit.” THE ANTiqUARY. 18' The feast was spread fronde super viridi, as Old- buck expressed himself, under a huge old tree, called the Prior’s oak, and the company, sitting down around it, did ample honour to the contents of the basket. CHAPTER XVIII. WithAs when winged a Gryphon course, through o’er hill the and wilderness. moory dale, HadVursues from the his Arimaspian, wakeful custody who bypurloin’d stealth The guarded gold; so eagerly the Fiend Paradise Lost. When their collation was ended, Sir Arthur re- sumed the account of the mysteries of the divining rod, as a subject on which he had formerly conversed with Dousterswivel. “ My friend Mr. Oldbuck would now be prepared, Mr. Dousterswivel, to listen with more respect to the stories you have told us of the late discoveries in Germany by the brethren of your association.” “ Ah, Sir Arthur, that was not a thing to speak to those gentlemans, because it is want of credulity— what you call faith—that spoils the great enterprise.” “ At least, however, let my daughter read the nar- rative she has taken down of the story of Martin Waldeck.” “ Ah, that was very true story—but Miss War- dour, she is so sly and so witty, that she had made it just like one romance—as well as Goethe or Wie- land could have done it, by mine honest wort.” Miss“ To Wardour, say the truth, “ the Mr. romantic Dousterswivel,” predominated answered in the legend so much above the probable, that it was im- possible for a lover of fairy-land like me to avoid lending a few touches to make it perfect in its kind— But here it is, and if you do not incline to leave this shade till the heat of the day has somewhat declined, and will have sympathy with my bad composition, perhaps Sir Arthur or Mr. Oldbuck will read it to Us.” 188 THE ANTIQUARY. “ Not I,” said Sir Arthur;” “ I was never fond of reading aloud.” “ Nor I,” said Oldbuck, “ for I have forgot my spectacles—but here is Lovel, with sharp eyes and a good voice; for Mr. Blattergowl, I know, never reads any thing, lest he should be suspected of read- ing his sermons.” The task was therefore imposed upon Lovel, who received, with some trepidation, as Miss Wardour delivered, with a little embarrassment, a paper con- taining the lines traced by that fair hand, the posses- sion of which he coveted as the highest blessing the earth could offer to him. But there was a necessity of suppressing his emotions, and after glancing over the manuscript, as if to become acquainted with the character, he collected himself, and read the com- pany the following tale: The fortunes of Martin Waldeck. The solitudes of the Harz forest in Germany, but especially the mountains called Blockberg, or rather Brockenberg, are the chosen scene for tales of witch- es, demons, and apparitions. The occupation of the inhabitants, who are either miners or foresters, is of a kind that renders them peculiarly prone to super- stition, and the natural phenomena which they wit- ness in pursuit of their solitary or subterraneous profession, are often set down by them to the inter- i'erence of goblins or the power of magic. Among the various legends current in that wild country, there is a favourite one which supposes the Harz to be haunted by a sort of tutelar demon, in the shape of a wild man, of huge stature, his head wreathed with oak leaves, and his middle cinctured with the same, bearing in his hand a pine, torn up by the roots. It is certain that many persons profess to have seen such a form traversing, with huge strides, the opposite ridge of a mountain, when divided from it by a narrow glen; and indeed the fact of the ap- parition is so generally admitted, that modern seep- THE ANTIQUARY. 189 ticism has only found refuge by ascribing it to opti- cal deception. In elder times, the intercourse of the demon with the inhabitants was more familiar, and, according to the traditions of the Harz, he was wont, with the caprice usually ascribed to these earth-born powers, to interfere with the affairs of mortals, sometimes for their weal, sometimes for their wo. But it was ob- served, that even his gifts often turned out, in the long run, fatal to those on whom they were bestow- ed, and it was no uncommon thing for the pastors, in their care for their flock, to compose long sermons, the burthen whereof was a warning against having any intercourse, direct or indirect, with the Harz de- mon. The fortunes of Martin Waldeck have been often quoted by the aged to their giddy children, when they were heard to scoff at a danger which ap- peared visionary. A travelling capuchin had possessed himself of the pulpit of the thatched church at a little hamlet called Morgenbrodt, lying in the Harz district, from which he declaimed against the wickedness of the inhabitants, their communication with fiends, witch- es, and fairies, and, in particular, with the wood- land goblin of the Harz. The doctrines of Luther had already begun to spread among the peasantry, for the incident is placed under the reign of Charles V. and they laughed to scorn the zeal with which the venerable man insisted upon his topic. At length, as his vehemence increased with opposition, so their opposition rose in proportion to his vehemence. The inhabitants did not like to hear an accustomed quiet demon, who had inhabited the Brockenberg for so many ages, summarily confounded with Baalpeor, Ashtaroth, and Beelzebub himself, and condemned without reprieve to the bottomless Tophet. The ap- prehensions that the spirit might avenge himself on them for listening to such an illiberal sentence, add- ed to their national interest in his behalf. A travel- ling friar, they said, that is here to-day and away 190 THE ANTIQUARY. to-morrow, may say what he pleases, but it is we, the ancient and constant inhabitants of the country, that are left at the mercy of the insulted demon, and must, of course, pay for all. Under the irritation occasioned by these reflections, the peasants from in- jurious language betook themselves to stones, and having pebbled the priest pretty handsomely, they drove him out of tho parish to preach against de- mons elsewhere. Three young men, who had been present and assist- ing upon this occasion, were upon their return to the hut, where they carried on the laborious and mean occupation of preparing charcoal for the smelting fur- naces. On the way, their conversation naturally turn- ed upon the demon of Harz and the doctrine of the capuchin. Max and George Waldeck, the two elder brothers, although they allowed the language of the capuchin to have been indiscreet, and worthy of cen- sure, as presuming to determine upon the precise character and abode of the spirit, yet contended it was dangerous, in the highest degree, to accept of his gifts, or hold any communication with him. He was powerful, they allowed, but wayward and capri- cious, and those who had intercourse with him sel- dom came to a good end. Did he not give the brave knight, Ecbert of Rabenwald, that famous black steed, by means of which he vanquished all the champions at the great tournament at Bremen? and did not the same steed afterwards precipitate itself, with its ri- der, into an abyss so deep and fearful, that neither horse nor man was ever seen more? Had he not giv- en to Dame Gertrude Trodden a curious spell for making butter come? and was she not burnt for a witch by the grand criminal judge of the Electorate, because she availed herself of his gift? But these, and many other instances which they quoted, of mis- chance and iil-luck ultimately attending upon the ap- parent benefits conferred by the Harz spirit, failed to make any impression upon Martin Waldeck, the youngest of the brothers. THE ANTIQUARY. 191 Martin was youthful, rash and impetuous; excel- ling in all the exercises which distinguish a moun- taineer, and brave and undaunted from his familiar intercourse with the dangers that attend them. He laughed at the timidity of his brothers. “ Tell me not of such folly,” he said: “the demon is a good demon—he lives among us as if he were a peasant like ourselves—haunts the lonely crags and recesses of the mountains like a huntsman or goatherd—and he who loves the Harz forest and its wild scenes can not be indifferent to the fate of the hardy chil- dren of the soil. But, if the demon were as mali- cious as you would make him, how should he de- rive power over mortals who barely avail themselves of his gifts, without binding themselves to submit to his pleasure? When you carry your charcoal to the furnace, is not the money as good that is paid you by blaspheming Blaize, the old reprobate overseer, as if you got it from the pastor himself? It is not the goblin’s gifts which can endanger you, then, but it is the use you shall make of them that you must ac- count for. And were the demon to appear to me at this moment, and indicate to me a gold or silver mine, I would begin to dig away even before his back were turned, and I would consider myself as under protection of a much Greater than he, while I made a good use of the wealth he pointed out to me.” To this the elder brother repied, that wealth ill won was seldom well spent, while Martin presump- tuously declared, that the possession of all the trea- sures of the Har'z would not make the slightest alter- ation on his habits, morals, or character. His brother entreated Martin to talk less wildly upon this subject, and with some difficulty contrived to withdraw his attention by calling it to the consid- eration of an approaching boar-chase. This talk brought them to their hut, a wretched wigwam, situ- ated upon one side of a wild, narrow, and romantic dell, in the recesses of the Brockenberg. They re- 192 THF, ANTiqtTARY* leased their sister from attending upon the operation of charring the wood, which requires constant atten- tion, and divided among themselvs the duty of watch- ing it by night, according to their custom, one always waking while his brother slept. Max Waldeck,the eldest, watched during the two first hours of the night, and was considerably alarm- ed, by observing, upon the opposite bank of the glen, or valley, a huge fire surrounded by some figures that appeared to wheel around it with antic gestures. Max at first bethought him of calling up his brothers; but recollecting the daring character of the youngest, and finding it impossible to wake the elder without al- so disturbing him—conceiving also what he saw to be an illusion of the demon, sent, perhaps, in con- sequence of the venturous expressions used by Mar- tin on the preceding evening, he thought it best to betake himself to the safeguard of such prayers as he could murmur over, and to watch, in great ter- ror and annoyance, this strange and alarming appa- rition. After blazing for some time, the fire faded gradually away into darkness, and the rest of Max’s watch was only disturbed by the remembrance of its terrors. George now occupied the place of Max, who had retired to rest. The phenomenon of a huge blazing fire, upon the opposite bank of the glen, again pre- sented itself to the eye of the watchman. It was surrounded as before by figures, which, distinguish- ed by their opaque forms, being between the specta- tor and the red glaring light, moved and fluctuated around it as if engaged in some mystical ceremony. George, though equally cautious, was of a bolder character than his elder brother. He resolved to examine more nearly the object of his wonder; and, accordingly, after crossing the rivulet which divided the glen, he climbed up the opposite bank, and ap- proached within an arrow’s flight of the fire, which blazed apparently with the same fury as when he first witnessed it. THE ANTIQUARY. 19S The appearance of the assistants who surrounded . it, resembled those phantoms which are seen in a troubled dream, and at once confirmed the idea he had entertained from the first, that they did not be- long to the human world. Among these strange un- earthly forms, George Waldeck distinguished that of a giant overgrown with hair, holding an uprooted fir in his hand, with which, from time to time, he seemed to stir the blazing fire, and having no other clothing than a wreath of oak leaves around his fore- head and loins. George’s heart sunk within him at recognising the well-known apparition of the Harz demon, as he had been often described to him by the ancient shepherds and huntsmen who had seen his form traversing the mountains. He turned, and was about to fly; but, upon second thoughts, blaming his own cowardice, he recited mentally the verse of the Psalmist, “ All good angels praise the Lord!” which is in that country supposed powerful as an exorcism, and turned himself once more towards the place where he had seen the fire. But it was no longer visible. The pale moon alone enlightened the side of the valley, and when George, with trembling steps, a moist brow, and hair bristling upright under his col- lier’s cap, came to the spot on which the fire had been so lately visible, marked as it was by a scathed oak tree, there appeared not on the heath the slight- est vestiges of what he had seen. The moss and wild flowers were unscorched, and the branches of the oak tree, which had so lately appeared envelop- ed in wreaths of flame and smoke, were moist with the dews of midnight. George returned to his hut with trembling steps, and arguing like his elder brother, resolved to say nothing of what he had seen, lest he should awake in Martin that daring curiosity' which he almost deemed to be allied with impiety. It was now Martin’s turn to watch. The house- hold cock had given his first summons, and the night VOL. j» 17 194 THE ANTIQUARY. was well nigh spent. Upon examining the state of the furnace in which the wood was deposited in or- der to its being coked, or charred, he was surprised to find that the fire had not been sufficiently main- tained; for in his excursion and its consequences, George had forgot the principal object of his watch. Martin’s first thought was to call up the slumberers, but observing that both his brothers slept unwonted- ly deep and heavily, he respected their repose, and set himself to supply the furnace with fuel without requiring their aid. What he heaped upon it was apparently damp and unfit for the purpose, for the fire seemed rather to decay than revive. Martin next went to collect some boughs from a stack which had been carefully cut and dried for this purpose; but, when he returned, he found the fire totally ex- tinguished. This was a serious evil, and threatened them with loss of their trade for more than one day. The vexed and mortified watchman set about to strike a light in order to rekindle the fire, but the tinder was moist, and his labour proved in this re- spect also ineffectual. He was now about to call up his brothers, for circumstances seemed to be press- ing, when flashes of light glimmered not only through the window, but through every crevice of the rudely built hut, and summoned him to behold the same apparition which had before alarmed the successive watches of his brethren. His first idea was, that the Muhllerhaussers, their rivals in trade, and with whom they had had many quarrels, might have en- croached upon their bounds for the purpose of pi- rating their wood, and he resolved to awake his bro- thers, and be revenged on them for their audacity. But a short reflection and observation on the ges- tures and manner of those who seemed to “ work in the fire,” induced him to dismiss this belief, and al- though rather sceptical in such matters, to conclude that what he saw was a supernatural phenomenon. “ But be they men or fiends,” said the undaunted fo- rester, “ that busy themselves yonder with such fan- THE ANTIQUARY. 195 tastical rites and gestures, I will go and demand a light to rekindle our furnace.” He relinquished, at the same time, the idea of awaking his brethren.-r- There was a belief that such adventures as he was about to undertake was accessible only to one person at a time; he feared also that his brothers, in their scrupulous timidity, might interfere to prevent his pursuing the investigation he had resolved to com- mence; and therefore, snatching his boar spear from the wall, the undaunted Martin Waldeck set forth on the adventure alone. With the same success as his brother George, but with courage far superior, Martin crossed the brook, ascended the hill, and approached so near the ghostly assembly, that he could recognise, in the presiding figure, the attributes of the Harz demon. A cold shuddering assailed him for the first time in his life, but the recollection that he had at a distance dared and even courted the intercourse which was now about to take place, confirmed his staggering courage, and pride supplying what he wanted in resolution, he advanced with tolerable firmness towards the fire, the figures which surrounded it appearing still more wild, fantastical, and supernatural, the more near he approached to the assembly. He was received with a loud shout of discordant and unnatural laughter, which, to his stunned ears, seemed more alarming than a combination of the most dismal and melan- choly sounds which could be imagined. “ Who art thou?” said the giant, compressing his savage and exaggerated features into a sort of forced gravity, while they were occasionally agitated by the convul- sion of the laughter which he seemed to suppress. “ Martin Waldeck, the forester,” answered the hardy youth;—“ And who are you?” “ The king of the waste and of the mine,” answer- ed the spectre:—“ And why hast thou dared to en- croach on my mysteries?” “ I came in search of light to rekindle my fire,” answered Martin, hardily, and then resolutely asked, 196 THE ANTIQUARY. in his turn, “ What mysteries are those that you celebrate here?” “ We celebrate,” answered the complaisant de- mon, “ the wedding of Hermes w ith the Black Dra- gon—But take thy fire that thou earnest to seek, and begone—No mortal may long look upon us and live.” The peasant struck his spear point into a large piece of blazing wood, which he heaved up with some difficulty, and then turned round to regain his hut, the shouts of laughter being renewed behind him with treble violence, and ringing far down the narrow valley. When Martin returned to the hut, his first care, however much astonished with what he had seen, was to dispose the kindled coal among the fuel so as might best light the fire of his furnace; but after many efforts, and all exertions of bellows and fire-prong, the coal he had brought from the demon’s fire became totally extinct, without kindling any of the others. He turned about, and observed the fire still blazing on the hill, although those who had been busied around it had disappeared. As he conceived the spectre had been jesting with him, he gave way to the natural hardihood of his temper, and determining to see the adventure to an end, re- sumed the road to the fire, from which, unopposed by the demon, he brought off in the same manner a blazing piece of charcoal, but still without being able to succeed in lighting his fire. Impunity having in- creased his rashness, he resolved upon a third ex- periment, and was as successful as before in reach- ing the fire, but, when he had again appropriated a piece of burning coal, and had turned to depart, he heard the harsh and supernatural voice which had before accosted him, pronounce the words, “ Dare not to return hither a fourth time!” The attempt to kindle the fire with this last coal having proved as ineffectual as on the former occa- sions, Martin relinquished the hopeless attempt, and flung himself on his bed of leaves, resolving to de- ay till the next morning the communication of his THE ANTIQUARY. 197 supernatural adventure to his brothers. He was awakened from a heavy sleep into which he had sunk, from fatigue of body and agitation of mind, by loud exclamations of surprise and joy. His brothers, astonished at finding the fire extinguished when they awoke, had proceeded to arrange the fuel in order to renew it, when they found in the ashes three huge metallic masses, which their skill, (for most of the peasants in the Harz are practical mineralogists,) immediately ascertained to be pure gold. It was some damp upon their joyful congratula- tions when they learned from Martin, the mode in which he had obtained this treasure, to which their own experience of the nocturnal vision induced them to give full credit. But they were unable to resist the temptation of sharing in their brother’s wealth. Taking now upon him as head of the house, Martin Waldeck bought lands and forests, built a castle, ob- tained a patent of nobility, and, greatly to the scorn of the ancient nobility of the neighbourhood, was in- vested with all the privileges of a man of family. His courage in public war, as well as in private feuds, together with the number of retainers whom he kept in pay, sustained him for some time against the odium which was excited by his sudden elevation, and the arrogance of his pretensions. And now it was seen in the instance of Martin Waldeck, as it has been in that of many others, how little mortals can foresee the effect of sudden prosperity on their own disposition. The evil dispositions in his na- ture, which poverty had checked and repressed, ripened and bore their unhallowed fruit under the influence of temptation and the means of indulgence. As Deep calls unto Deep, one bad passion awakened another; the fiend of avarice invoked that of pride, and pride was to be supported by cruelty and op- pression. Waldeck’s character, always bold and daring, but rendered more harsh and assuming by prosperity, soon made him odious,' not to the nobles only, but likewise to the lower ranks, who saw, with 17# 198 THE ANTiqUARY. double dislike, the oppressive rights of the feudal nobility of the empire so remorselessly exercised by one who had risen from the very dregs of the people. His adventure, although carefully concealed, began likewise to be whispered abroad, and the clergy al- ready stigmatized as a wizard and accomplice of fiends, the wretch, who, having acquired so huge a treasure in so strange a manner, had not sought to sanctify it by dedicating a considerable portion to the use of the church. Surrounded by enemies, public and private, tormented by a thousand feuds, and threatened by the church with excommunication, Martin Waldeck, or, as we must now call him, the Baron Von Waldeck, often regretted bitterly the la- bours and sports df his unenvied poverty. But his courage failed him not, under all these difficulties, and seemed rather to augment in proportion to the danger which darkened around him, until an acci- dent precipitated his fall. A proclamation by the reigning Duke of Bruns- wick had invited to a solemn tournament all German nobles of free and honourable descent, and Martin Waldeck, splendidly armed, accompanied by his two brothers, and a gallantly equipped retinue, had the arrogance to appear among the chivalry of the pro- vince, and demand permission to enter the lists. This was considered as filling up the measure of his pre- sumption. A thousand voices exclaimed, “We will have no cinder-sifter mingle in our games of chival- ry.” Irritated to frenzy, Martin drew his sword, and hewed down the herald, who, in compliance with the general outcry, opposed his entrance into the lists. A hundred swords were unsheathed to avenge what was in those days regarded as a crime only inferior to sacrilege, or regicide. Waldeck, after defending himself like a lion, was seized, tried on the spot by the judges of the lists, and condemn- ed, as the appropriate punishment for breaking the peace of his sovereign, and violating the sacred per- son of a herald-at-arms, to have his right hand struck THE ANTIQUARY. 199 from his body, to be ignominiously deprived of the honour of nobility, of which he was unworthy, and to be expelled from the city. When he had been stripped of his arms, and sustained the matiiation imposed by this severe sentence, the unhappv victim of ambition was abandoned to the rubble, who fol- lowed him with threats and outcries, levelled alter- nately against the necromancer and oppressor, which at length ended in violence. His brothers, (for his retinue was fled and dispersed,) at length succeed- ed in rescuing him from the hands of the populace, when, satiated with cruelty, they had left him half dead through loss of blood, and through the out- rages he had sustained. They were not permitted, such was the ingenious cruelty of their enemies, to make use of any other means of removing him, ex- cepting such a collier’s cart as they had themselves formerly used, in which they had deposited their brother on a truss of straw, scarcely expecting to reach any place of shelter ere death should release him from his misery. When the Waldecks, journeying in this miserable manner, had approached the verge of their hative country, in a hollow way between two mountains, they perceived a figure advancing towards them, which at first sight seemed to be an aged man. But as he approached, his limbs and stature increased, the cloak fell from his shoulders, his pilgrim’s staff was changed into an uprooted pine tree, and the gi- gantic figure of the Harz demon passed before them in his terrors. When he came opposite to the cart which contained the miserable Waldeck, his huge features dilated into a grin of unutterable contempt and malignity, as he asked the sufferer, “ How like you the fire my coals have kindled?’’ The power of motion, which terror suspended in his two brothers, seemed to be restored to Martin by the energy of his courage. He raised himself on the cart, bent his brows, and clenching his fist, shook it at the spectre with a ghastly look of hate and defiance. The gob- 200 THE ANTIQUARY. I'm vanished with his usual tremendous and explosive laugh, and left Waldeck exhausted with the effort of expiring nature. The terrified brethren turned their vehicle toward the towers of a convent, which arose in a wood of pine trees beside the road. They were charitably received by a bare-footed and long-bearded capu- chin, and Martin survived only to complete the first confession he had made since the day of his sudden prosperity, and to receive absolution from the very priest whom, precisely on that day three years, he had assisted to pelt out of the hamlet of Morgen- brodt. The three years of precarious prosperity were supposed to have a mysterious correspondence with the number of his visits to the spectral fire upon the hill. The body of Martin Waldeck was interred in the convent where he expired, in which his brothers, having assumed the habit of the order, lived and died in the performance of acts of charity and de- votion. His lands, to which no one asserted any clainij lay waste until they were reassumed by the emperor as a lapsed fief; and the ruins of the castle, which Waldeck had called by his own name, are still shunned by the miner and forester as haunted by evil spirits. Thus were the evils attendant upon wealth, hastily attained and ill-employed, exemplified in the fortunes of Martin Waldeck.

CHAPTER XIX. BetwixtHere has my been cousin such Captain, a stormy and encounter this soldier. Competitions,About l know notdegrees, what!—nothing, and comparatives indeed; Of soldiership! A Fair Quarrel. The attentive audience gave the fair transcriber of the foregoing legend the thanks which politeness THE ANTIQUARY. 201 required. Oldbuck alone curled up his nose, and observed that Miss Wardour’s skill was something like that of the alchymists, for she had contrived to extract a sound and valuable moral out of a very trumpery and ridiculous legend. “It is the fashion, as I am given to understand, to admire those ex- travagant fictions;—for me, Unused at ghostsI bear and an rattling English bones heart. to start.” “ Under your favour, my goot Mr. Oldenbuck,” said the German, “ Miss Wardour has turned de story, as she does every thing as she touches, very pretty indeed; but all de history of de Kara goblin, and how he walks among de desolate mountains wid a great fir tree for his walking-cane, and wid de great green bush around his head and his waist— that is as true as I am an honest man.” “ There is no disputing any proposition so well guarantied,” answered the Antiquary drily. But at this moment the approach of a stranger cut short the conversation. The stranger was a handsome young man, about five-and-twenty, in a military undress, and bearing in his look and manner, a good deal of the martial profession. He was at once greeted by the greater part of the company. “ My dear Hector!” said Miss MTntyre, as she rose to take his hand “ Hector, son of Priam, whence comest thou!” said the Antiquary. “ From Fife, my liege,” answered the young sol- dier, and continued, when he had politely saluted the rest of the company, and particularly Sir Arthur and his daughter—“ I learned from one of the ser- vants, as I rode towards Monkbarns to pay my re- spects to you, that I should find the present company in this place, and I willingly embraced the opportu- nity to pay my respects to so many of my friends at once.” “ And to a new one also, my trusty Trojan,” said Oldbuck. “ Mr. Lovel, this is my nephew, Captain 202 THE ANTIQUARY. M‘Intyre—Hector, I recommend Mr. Lovel to your acquaintance.” The young soldier fixed his keen eye upon Lovel, and paid his compliment with more reserve than cordiality; and as our acquaintance thought his cold- ness almost supercilious, he was equally frigid and haughty in making the necessary return to it; and thus a prejudice seemed to arise between them at the very commencement of their acquaintance. The observations which Lovel made during the remainder of this pleasure party, did not tend to re- concile him with this addition to their society. Cap- tain M‘Intyre, with the gallantry to be expected from his age and profession, attached himself to the ser- vice of Miss Wardour, and offered her, upon every possible opportunity, those marks of attention which Lovel would have given the world to have rendered, and was only deterred from offering by the fear of her displeasure. With forlorn dejection at one mo- ment, and with irritated susceptibility at another, he saw this handsome young soldier assume and ex- ercise all the privileges of a cavaliere serviente. He handed Miss Wardour’s gloves, he assisted her in putting on her shawl, he attached himself to her in the walks, had a hand ready to remove every im- pediment in her path, and an arm to support her where it was rugged or difficult; his conversation was always addressed to her, and, where circum- stances permitted, it was exclusively so. All this, Lovel well knew, might be only that sort of egotisti- cal gallantry which induces some young men of the present day, to give themselves the air of engross- ing the attention of the prettiest woman in company, as if the others were unworthy of their notice. But he thought he observed in the conduct of Captain MlIntyre something of marked and peculiar tender- ness, which was calculated to alarm the jealousy of a lover. Miss Wardour also received his attentions, and although his candour allowed they were of a kind which could not be repelled without some strain THE ANTIQUARY. 203 of affectation yet it galled him to the heart to witness that she did rso. The heart burning which these reflections occa- sioned, proved very indiflerent seasoning to the dry antiquarian discussions with which Oldbuck, who continued to demand his particular attention, was unremittingly persecuting him; and he underwent, with fits of impatience that amounted almost to loath- ing, a course of lectures on monastic architecture, in all us styles, from the massive Saxon to the florid Gothic, and from that to the mixed and composite architecture of James the First’s time, when accord- ing to Oldbuck, all orders were confounded, and columns of various descriptions arose side by side, or were piled above each other, as if symmetry had been forgotten, and the elemental principles of art resolved into their primitive confusion. “ What can be more cutting to the heart than the sight of evils,” said Oldbuck, in rapturous enthusi- asm, “which we are compelled to behold, while we do not possess the power of remedy ing them?” Lovel answered by an involuntary groan. “ i see, my dear young friend, and most congenial spirit, that you feel these enormities as much as I do. Have you ever approached them without a longing to tear, to de- face, what is so dishonourable?” “ Dishonourable!” echoed I.ovel, “ In what re- spect dishonourable?” “ I mean disgraceful to the arts.” « Where? how?” “ Upon the portico, for example, of the schools of Oxford, where, at immense expense, the barbarous, fantastic, and ignorant architect has chosen to re- present the whole five orders of architecture on the front of one building.” By such attacks as these, Oldbuck, unconscious of the torture he was giving, compelled I.ovel to give him a share of his attention—as a skilful angler, by means of his line, maintains an influence over the most frantic movements of his agon ized. prey. 204 THE ANTIQUARY. They were now upon their return to the spot where they had left the carriages; and it is inconceivable how often, in the course of that short walk, Lovel, exhausted by the unceasing prosing, of his worthy companion, mentally bestowed on the devil, or any one else that would have rid him of hearing more of them, all the orders and disorders of architecture which had been invented or combined from the building of Solomon’s temple downward. A slight incident occurred, however, which sprinkled a little patience on the heat of his distemperature. Miss Wardour, and her self-elected knight-com- panion, rather preceded the others in the narrow path, when the young lady apparently became desir- ous to unite herself with the rest of the party, and to break off her tete-a-tete with the young officer, fairly made a pause until Mr. Oldbuck came up. “ I wished to ask you a question, Mr. Oldbuck, concern- ing the date of these interesting ruins.” It would be doing injustice to Miss Wardour’s savoir faire, to suppose she was not aware that such a question would lead to an answer of no limited length. The Antiquary, starting like a war-horse at the trumpet sound, plunged himself at once into the various arguments for and against the date of 1273, which had been assigned to the priory of St. Ruth, by a late publication on Scottish architectural antiqui- ties. He hawked up the names of all the priors who had ruled the institution, of the nobles who had be- stowed lands upon it, and of the monarchs who had slept their last sleep among its roofless courts. As a train which takes fire, is sure to light another, if there be such in the vicinity, the Baronet, catching at the name of one of his ancestors, which occurred in Oldbuck’s disquisition, entered upon an account of his wars, his conquests and his trophies; and wor- thy Dr. Blattergowl was induced, from the mention of a grant of lands, cam decimis inclusis tam vicariis c/uam garbalibus, et nunquam antea separatism to enter into a long explanation concerning the interpretation THE antiquary. 205 given by the tiend court in the consideration of such a clause, which had occurred in a process for looal- ling his last augmentation of stipend. The orators, like three racers, each pressed forward to the goal, without much regarding how each crossed and jos- tled his competitors. Mr. Oldbuck harangued, the baronet declaimed, Mr. Blattergowl prosed and laid down the law, while the Latin forms of feudal grants were mingled with the jargon of blazonry, and the yet more barbarous phraseology of the tiend court of Scotland. ‘k He was,” exclaimed Oldbuck, speaking of the Prior Adhemar, “ indeed, an exemplary pre- late; and, from his strictness of morals, rigid execu- tion of penance, joined to the charitable disposition of his mind, and the infirmities endured by his great age and ascetic habits” Here he chanced to cough, and Sir Arthur burst in, or rather continued—“ was called popularly Hell- in-harness; he carried a shield, gules with a sable fess, which we have since disused, and was slain at the battle of Vernoil, in France, after killing six of the English with his own” • “ Discreet of certification,” proceeded the clergy- man, in that prolonged, steady, prosing tone, which however overpowered at first by the vehemence of competition, promised, in the long run, to obtain the ascendancy in this strife of narrators; “ Discreet of certification having gone out, and parties being held as confessed, the proof seemed to be held as con- cluded, when their lawyer moved to have it opened up, on the allegation that they had witnesses to bring forward, that they had been in the habit of carrying the ewes to lamb on the tiend-free land, which was a mere evasion, for” But here the baronet and Mr. Oldbuck having re- covered their wind, and continuing their respective harangues, the three strands of the conversation, to speak the language of a rope-walk, were again twined together into one indistinguishable string of confusion. VOL. i. 18 206 T?HE ANTIQUARY. Yet howsoever uninteresting this pyebald jargon might seem, it was obviously Miss Wardour’s pur- pose to give it her attention, in preference to yield- ing Captain M‘Intyre an opportunity of renewing their private conversation. So that after waiting for a little time with displeasure ill concealed by his haughty features, he left her to enjoy her bad taste, and taking his sister by the arm, detained her a little behind the rest of the party. “ So I find, Mary, that your neighbourhood has neither become more lively nor less learned during my absence.” “ We lacked your patience and wisdom to instruct us, Hector.” “ Thank you, my dear sister. But you have got a wiser, if not so lively an addition to your society, than your unworthy brother—pray, who is this Mr. Lovel, whom our old uncle has at once placed so high in his good graces?—he does not use to be so ac- cessible to strangers.” “ Mr. Lovel, Hector, is a very gentleman-like young man.” “ Aye; that is to say, he bows when he comes into a room, and wears a coat that is whole at the elbows.” “ No, brother; it says a great deal more. It says that his manners and discourse express the feelings and education of the higher class.” “ But I desire to know what is his birth and his rank in society? and what is his title to be in the circle in which I find him domesticated?” “ If you mean how he comes to visit at Monk- barns, you must ask my uncle, who will probably re- ply, that he invites to his own house such company as he pleases; and if you mean to ask Sir Arthur, you must know that Mr. Lovel rendered Miss War- dour and him a service of the most important kind.” “ What! that romantic story is true, then?—and pray does the valorious knight aspire, as is befit- ting on such occasions, to the hand of the young lady whom he redeemed from peril?—It is quite in the THE ANTIQUARY. 207 rule of romance, I am aware; and I did think that she was uncommonly dry to me as we walked toge- ther, and seemed trom time to time as if she watch- ed whether she was not giving offence to her gallant cavalier.” “ Dear Hector, if you really continue to nourish any affection for Miss Wardour” “ If, Mary?—what an if was there!” “ 1 own I consider your perseverance as hopeless.” “ And why hopeless, my sage sister?” asked Cap- tain MHntyre; “ Miss Wardour, in the state of her father’s affairs, can not pretend to much fortune, and, as to family, I trust that of M‘Intyre is not infe- rior.” “ But, Hector,” continued his sister, “ Sir Ar- thur always considers us as members of the Monk- barns family.” “ Sir Arthur may consider what he pleases; but any one with common sense will consider that the wife takes rank from the husband, and that my fa- ther’s pedigree of fifteen unblemished descents must have ennobled my mother, if her veins had been filled with printers’ ink.” “ For God’s sake, Hector, take care of yourself— a single expression of that kind, repeated to my un- cle by an indiscreet or interested eves-dropper, would lose you his favour forever, and destroy all chance of your succeeding to his estate.” “ Be it so; I have a profession which the world has never been able to do without, and will far less endure to want for half a century to come; and my good old uncle may tack his good estate and his ple- beian name to your apron-string, if he pleases, Ma- ry, and you may wed this new favourite of his, if you please, and you may both of you live quiet, peaceable, well-regulated lives, if it pleases Heaven. My part is taken—I’ll fawn on no man for an inhe- ritance which should be mine by birth.” Miss M‘Intyre laid her hand on her brother’s 208 THE ANTIQUARY. arm and entreated him to suppress his vehemence. “ Who,” she said, injures or seeks to injure you but your own hasty temper?—what dangers arc you de- fying, but those you have yourself conjured up?— Our uncle has hitherto been all that is kind and pa- ternal in his conduct to us, and why should you sup- pose he will in future be otherwise than what he h^s ever been since we were left as orphans to his care. “ He is an excellent old gentleman, I must own,” replied M‘Intyre, “ and I am enraged at myself when I chance to offend him; but then his eternal ha- rangues upon topics not w orth the spark of a flint— his investigations about ancient pots, and pans, and tobacco stoppers past service—all these things put me out of patience—I have something of Hotspur in me, sister, I must confess.” “ Too much, too much, my dear brother. Into how many risks, and forgive me for saying, some of them little creditable, has this absolute and violent temper led you! Do not let such clouds darken the time you are now to pass in our neighbourhood, but let our old benefactor see his kinsman as he is— generous, kind, and lively without being rude, head- strong, and impetuous.” “ Well,” answered Captain MTntyre, “ I am schooled—good manners be my speed! I’ll do the civil thing by your new friend—I’ll have some talk wdth this Mr. Lovel.” With this determination, in which he was for the time perfectly sincere, he joined the party who were walking before them. The treble disquisition was, 'y this time, ended; and Sir Arthur was speaking upon the subject of foreign news, and the political and military situation of the country, themes upon which every man thinks himself qualified to give an opinion. An action of the preceding year having come upon the tapis, Lovel, accidentally mingling in the conversation, made some assertion concerning it, of the accuracy of which Captain MTntyre seem- ed not to be convinced, although his doubts were politely expressed. THE ANTIQUARY. 209 “You must confess yourself in the wrong here. Hector,” said his uncle, “ although I know no man less willing to give up an argument; but you were in England at the time, and Mr. Lovel was probably concerned in the affair.” u I am speaking to a military man, then,” said M‘Intyre; “ may I inquire to what regiment Mr. Lovel belongs?”—Air. Lovel gave him the number of the regiment. “ It happens strangely that we should never have met before, Air. Lovel. I know your regiment very w'ell, and have served along with them at different times.” A blush crossed Level’s countenance. “ I have not lately been with my regiment,” he replied, “ I servedSir the last campaign upon the staff of General “ Indeed! that is m®re wonderful than the other circumstances; for, although I did not serve with General Sir , yet I had an opportunity of knowing the names of the officers who held situa- tions in his family, and 1 can not recollect that of Lovel.” At this observation, Lovel again blushed so deep- ly, as to attract the attention of the whole company, while a scornful laugh11 seemed to indicate Captain McIntyre’s triumph. There is somethingu strange in this,” said Oldbuck to himself, but I will not readily give up my phanix of post-chaise compan- ions—all his actions, language, and bearing, are those of a gentleman.” Lovel, in the meanwhile, had taken out his pock- et-book, and selecting a letter, from which he took off the envelop, he handed it to M‘Intyre, “ You know the general’s hand, in all probability—I own I ought not to shov^hese exaggerated expressions of his regard and estefcjp for me.” The letter contain- ed a very handsome compliment from the officer in question for some military service lately performed. Captain dTntyre, as he glanced his eye over it, could not deny that it was written in the general’s 18* 210 the Antiquary. hand, but drily observed as he returned it, that the address was wanting. “ The address, Captain MTntyre,” answered Level in the same tone, “ shall be at your service whenever you choose to inquire after it.” “I certainly shall not fail to do so,” rejoined the soldier. “ Come, come,” exclaimed Oldbuck, “ what is the meaning of all this? Have we got Hiren here? We’ll have no swaggering, youngsters. Are you come from the wars abroad, to stir up domestic strife in our peaceful land? Are you like bull dog puppies, forsooth, that, when the bull, poor fellow, is removed from the ring, fall to brawl among themselves, worry each other, and bite honest folks’ shins that are stand- ing by?” Sir Arthur trusted, he said, that the young gentle- men would not so far forget themselves as to grow warm upon such a trifling subject as the back of a letter. Both the disputants disclaimed any such intention, and with high colour and flashing eyes, protested they were never so cool in their lives. But an ob- vious damp was cast over the party; they talked in future too much by the rule to be sociable, and Lev- el, conceiving himself the object of cold and suspi- cious looks from the rest of the company, and sensi - ble that his indirect replies had given them permis- sion to entertain strange opinions respecting him, made a gallant determination to sacrifice the pleasure he had proposed in spending the day at Knockwin- nock. He affected, therefore, to complain of a violent head-ache, occasioned by the heat of the day, to which he had not been exposed sinoe his illness, and made a formal apology to Sir Arthur, who, listening more to recent suspicion than to the gratitude due for former services, did not press him to keep his engagement more than good breeding exactly de- manded. Whea Level took leave of the ladies, Miss War- i HE ANTIQUARY. 211 dour’s manners seemed more anxious than he had hitherto remarked it. She indicated by a glance of her eye towards Captain M‘Intyre, perceptible only by Lovel, the subject ot her alarm, and hoped in a voice greatly under her usual tone, it was not a less pleasant engagement which deprived them of the pleasure of Mr. Level’s company. u No engage- ment had intervened,” he assured her, “ it was only the return of a complaint by which he had been for some time occasionally attacked.” “ The best remedy in such a case is prudence, and I—every friend of Mr. Level’s, will expect him to employ it.” Lovel bowed low, and coloured deeply, and Miss Wardour, as if she felt that she had said too much, turned and got into the carriage. Lovel had next to part with Oldbuck, who, during this interval, had, with Caxon’s assistance, been arranging his disor- dered periwig, and brushing his coat, which exhibit- ed some marks of the rude path they had traversed. “ What, man!” said Oldbuck, “ you are not going to leave us on account of that foolish Hector’s indis- creet curiosity and vehemence? Why, he is a thoughtless boy—a petted child from the time he was in the nurse’s arms—he threw his coral and bells at my head for refusing him a bit of sugar— And you have too much sense to mind such a shrew- ish boy—cequam servare mentem is the motto of our friend Horace. I’ll school Hector by and by, and put it all to rights.” But Lovel persisted in his de- sign of returning to Fairport. The Antiquary then assumed a graver tone.— Take heed, young man, to your present feelings. Your life has been given you for useful and valuable purposes, and should be reserved to illustrate the literature of your country, when you afe not called upon to expose it in her defence, or in the rescue of the innocent. Private war, a practice unknown to the civilized ancients, is, of all the absurdities intro- duced by the Gothic tribes, the most gross, impious 212 THE ANTIQUARY. and cruel. Let me hear no more of these absurd quarrels, and I will show you the treatise upon the duello, which I composed when the town-clerk and provost Mucklewhame chose to assume the privi- leges of gentlemen, and challenged each other. I thought of printing my Essay, which is signed Pa- cificator, but there was no need, as the matter was taken up by the town council of the borough.” “ But I assure you, my dear sir, there is nothing between Captain McIntyre and me that can render euch respectable interference necessary.” “ See it be so, for otherwise I will stand second to both parties.” So saying, the old gentleman got into the chaise, close to which Miss McIntyre had detained her bro- ther upon the same principle that the owner of a quarrelsome dog keeps him by his side to prevent his fastening upon another. But Hector contrived to give her precaution the slip, for, as he was on horseback, he lingered behind the carriages until they had fairly turned the corner in the road to Knockvvinnock, and then wheeling his horse’s head round, gave him the spur in the opposite direction. A very few minutes brought him up with Level, who, perhaps, anticipating his intention, had not put his horse beyond a slow walk, when the clatter of hoofs behind him announced Captain M‘Intyre.—• The young soldier, his natural heat of temper exas- perated by the rapidity of motion, reined his horse up suddenly and violently by Level’s side, and, touching his hat slightly, inquired, in a very haughty tone of voice, “ What am I to understand, sir, by your telling me that your address was at my ser- vice?” “ Simply, sir, that my name is Level, and that my ^residence is, for the present, Fairport, as you will see b\ this card.” “ And this is all the information you are disposed to give me?” “ X see no right you have to require more.’* THE ANTIQUARY. 213 “ I find you, sir, in company with my sister, and I have a right to know who is admitted to Miss M'In tyre’s society.” “ I shall take the liberty of disputing that right— you find me in society who are satisfied with the degree of information on my affairs which I have thought proper to communicate, and you, a mere stranger, have no right to inquire further.” “ Mr. Level, if you served as you say you have”—- “ If!” answered Lovel—“ If I have served as I say I have?” “ Yes, sir, such is my expression—if you have so served, you must know that you owe me satisfaction either in one way or other.” “ If that be your opinion I will be proud to give it to you. Captain M‘Intyre, in the way in which the word is generally used among gentlemen.” “ Very well, sir, rejoined Hector, and turning his horse round, galloped off to overtake his party. His absence had already alarmed them, and his sister having stopped the carriage, had her neck stretched out of the window to see where he was. “ What is the matter with you now?” said the An- tiquary, “ riding to and fro as if your neck were upon the wager—why do you not keep up with the carriage?” “ I forgot my glove, sir,” said Hector. “ Forgot your glove! I presume you meant to say you went to throw it down—but I will take order with you, my young gentleman—you shall return with me this night to Monkbarns,” So saying, he bid the postillion to go on. 214 THE ANTIQUARY. CHAPTER XX. If you fail Honour here, NeverBid farewell presume to theto serve integrity her anyof armes, more; AndFall fromthe honourable you, like a nameshivered of soldier wreath of laurel By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead.AFaire Quarrel!. Early the next morning, a gentleman came to wait upon Mr. Level, who was up and ready to re- ceive him. He was a military gentleman, a friend of Captain MHntyre’s, at present in Fairport on the recruiting service. Level and he were slightly known to each other. “ I presume, sir,” said Mr. Lesley, (such was the name of the visiter,) “ that you guess the occasion of my troubling you so early?” “ A message from Captain M‘Intyre, I presume?” “ The same—he holds himself injured by the man- ner in which you declined yesterday to answer cer- tain inquiries which he conceived himself entitled to make respecting a gentleman whom he found in in- timate society with his family.” “ May I ask if you, Mr. Lesley, would have in- clined to satisfy interrogatories so haughtily and un- ceremoniously put to you?” “ Perhaps not; and, therefore, as I know the warmth of my friend M‘Intyre on such occasions, I feel very desirous of acting as peacemaker. From Mr. Level’s very gentleman-like manners, every one must strongly wish to see him repel all that sort of dubious calumny which will attach itself to one whose situation is not fully explained. If he will permit me, in friendly conciliation, to inform Captain MHntyre of his real name, for we are led to con- clude that of Lovel is assumed”— “ I beg your pardon, sir, but I can not admit that inference.” “Or, at least,” said Lesley, proceeding, “that it is .v., v,,, ]yir> Lovel has been at all THE ANTIQUARY. 215 times distinguished—if Mr. Level will have the goodness to explain this circumstance, which, in my opinion, he should do injustice to his own character, I will answer for the amicable arrangement of this unpleasant business.” “ Which is to say, Mr. Lesley, that if I shall con- descend to answer questions which no mah has a right to ask, and which are now put to me under penalty of Captain M‘Intyre’s resentment, Captain M‘Intyre will condescend to rest satisfied? Mr. Lesley, I have just one word to say on this subject— I have no doubt my secret, if I had one, might be safely intrusted to your honour, but I do not feel called upon to satisfy the curiosity of any one. Cap- tain M‘Intyre met me in a society which, of itself, was a warrant to all the world, and particularly ought to be such to him, that I was a gentleman. He has, in my opinion, no right to go any farther, or to inquire the pedigree, rank, or circumstances of a stranger, who, without seeking any intimate con- nexion with him or his, chances to dine with his uncle, or walk in company with his sister.” “ In that case, Captain M‘Intyre requests you to be informed, that your farther visits at Monkbarns, and all connexion with Miss M‘Intyre, must be dropt, as disagreeable to him.” “ I shall certainly,” said Lovel, “ visit Mr. Old- buck when it suits me, without paying the least re- spect to his nephew’s threats or irritable feelings. I respect the young lady’s name too much (though nothing can be slighter than our acquaintance) to in- troduce it into such a discussion.” “ In that case, Captain MHntyre requests that Mr. Lovel, unless he wishes to be announced as a verv dubious character, will favour him with a meeting this evening, at seven, at the thorn-tree in the little valley, close by the ruins of St. Ruth ” “ Most unquestionably, I will wait upon him. There is only one difficulty—I must find a friend to accompany me, and where to seek one on this shoK 216 THE ANTIQUARY. notice, as I have no acquaintances in Fairport—I will be on the spot, however, Captain M‘Intyre may be assured of that.” Lesley had taken his hat, and was as far as the door of the apartment, when, as if moved by the pe- culiarity of Lovel’s situation, he returned, and thus address'd him: “ Mr. Lovel, there is something so singular in all this, that I can not help again resuming the argument. You must be yourself aware at this mo- ment of the inconvenience of preserv ing an incognito, for which, I am convinced, there can be no dishon- ourable reason. Still this mystery renders it difficult for you to procure the assistance of a friend in a cri- sis so delicate—nay, let me add, that many persons will even consider it a piece of Quixotry in M‘In- tyreto give you a meeting, while your character and circumstances are involved in such obscurity.” “■ I understand your inuendo, Mr. Lesley,” re- joined Lovel, ‘‘ and though I might be offended at its severity, I am not so, because it is meant kindly. But in my opinion, he is entitled to all the privi- leges of a gentleman, to whose charge, during the time he has been known in the society where he hap- pens to move, nothing can be laid that is unhand- some or unbecoming. For a friend, I dare say I will find some one or other who will do me that good turn; and if his experience be less than I could wish, I am certain not to suffer through that circumstance when you are in the field for my antagonist.” “ I trust you will not,” said Lesley; “ but I must, for my own sake, be anxious to divide so heavy a re- sponsibility with a capable assistant, allow me to say, that Lieutenant Taffril’s gun brig has come into the road stead, and he himself is now at old Caxon’s, where he lodges. I think you have the same de- gree of acquaintance with him as with me, and, as I would willingly have rendered you such a service were I not engaged on the other side, I am convinc- ed he will do so at your first request.” “ At the thorn-tree, then, Mr. Lesley, at seven this evening—the arms, I presume, arc pistols? THE ANTIQUARY. 217 44 Exactly; M‘Intyre has chosen the hour at which he can best escape from Monkbarns—he was at me this morning by five, in order to return and present himself before his uncle was up. Good morning to you, Mr. Lovel.”—And Lesley left the apartment. Lovel was as brave as most men; but none can in- ternally regard such a crisis as now approached, without deep feelings of awe and uncertainty. In a few hours he might be in another world, to answer for an action which his calmer thought told him was unjustifiable in a religious point of view, or he might be wandering about in the present like Cain, with the blood of his brother on his head. And all this might be saved by speaking a single word. Yet pride whispered, that, to speak that word now, would be ascribed to a motive which would degrade him more low than even the most injurious-reasons that could be assigned for his silence. Every one. Miss War- dour included, must then, he thought, account him a mean, dishonoured poltroon, who gave to the fear of meeting Captain M‘Intyre, the explanation he had refused to the calm and handsome expostulations of Mr. Lesley- M‘Intyre’s insolent behaviour to him- self personally, the air of pretension which he as- sumed towards Miss Wardour, and the extreme in- justice, arrogance and incivility of his demands up- on a perfect stranger, seemed to justify him in re- pelling his rude investigation. In short, he formed the resolution, which might have been expected from so young a man, to shut the eyes, namely, of his calmer reason, and follow the dictates of his offended pride. With this purpose he sought Lieutenant Taffril. The lieutenant received him with the good breed- ing of a gentleman, and the frankness of a sailor, and listened with no small surprise to the detail which preceded his request, that he might be favoured with his company at his meeting with Captain MTnt)ie. VOL. i. 19 SIS THE ANTIQUARY. When he had finished, Taffril rose up and walked through his apartment once or twice. “ This is a most singular circumstance,” he said, *♦ and really” “ I am conscious, Mr. Taffril, how little I am en- titled to make my present request, but the urgency of circumstances hardly leaves me an alternative.” “ Permit me to ask you one question,” asked the sailor; “ is there any thing of which you are asham- ed in the circumstances which you have declined to communicate?” “ Upon my honour, no; there is nothing but what, in a very short time, I trust I may publish to the whole world.’’ “ I hope the mystery arises from no false shame at the lowness of your friends, perhaps, or connex- ions?” “ No, on my word,” replied Lovel. “ I have little sympathy for that folly,” said Taf- fril; “ Indeed, I can not be supposed to have any; for, speaking of my relations, I may be said to have come myself from before the mast, and I believe I shall very soon form a connexion, which the world will think low enough, with a very amiable girl to whom I have been attached since we were next-door neighbours, at a time I little thought of the good for- tune which has brought me forward in the service.” “ I assure you, Mr. Taffril, whatever were the rank of my parents, I should never think of conceal- ing it from a spirit of petty pride. But I am so si- tuated at present, that I can not enter on the subject ef my family with any propriety.” “ It is quite enough,” said the honest sailor, “give me your hand; I’ll see you as well through this bu- siness as I can, though it is but an unpleasant one after all—but what of that? our own honour has the next call on us after our country—you are a lad of spirit, and I own I think Hector M‘Intyre, with his long pedigree and his airs of family, very much of a jackanapes. His father was a soldier of fortune, as THE ANTIQUARY. 210 I am a sailor—he himself, I suppose, is little better, ■unless just as his uncle pleases—and whether one pursues fortune by land, or sea, makes no great dif- ference, I should fancy.” “ None in the universe, certainly,’’ answered Le- vel. “ Well,” said his new ally, “ we will dine toge- her and arrange matters for this rencounter. I hope ou understand the use of the weapon?” “Not particularly,” Lovel replied. “ I am sorry for that—M‘Intyre is said to be a marksman.” “ I am sorry for it also,” said Lovel, “ both for his sake and my own—I must then, in self defence, take my aim as well as I can.” ‘ ‘Well,” added Taffril, “ I will have our surgeon’s mate on the field—a good, clever young fellow at caulking a shot hole. I will let Lesley, who is an honest fellow for a landsman, know, that he attends for the benefit of either party. Is there any thing I can do for you in case of an accident?” “ I have but little occasion to trouble you,” said Lovel; “ this small billet contains the key of rsy critoir, and my very brief secret—there is one letter in the escritoir (digesting a temporary swelling of the heart as he spoke) which I beg the favour of you to deliver with your own hand.” never“ I understand,”be ashamed saidfor thethe sailor;matter—an “ nay, affectionate my friend, heart may overflow for an instant at the eyes, if the ship were clearing for action—and, depend on it, whatever your injunctions are, Dan Taffril will re- gard them like the bequest of a dying brother.— But this is all stuff—we must get our things infight- ing order, and you will dine with me and my little surgeon’s mate at the Graemes’ arms, over the way, at four o’clock.” “ Agreed,” said Lovel. adjusted.“ Agreed,” said Taffril; and the whole affair was 220 THE ANTiqUAltY. It was a beautiful summer evening, and the sha- dow of the solitary thorn-tree was lengthening upon the short green sward of the narrow valley, which was skirted by the woods that closed around the ru- ins of St. Ruth. Level and Lieutenant Taffril, with the surgeon, came upon the ground with a purpose of a nature very uncongenial to the soft, mild, and pacific cha- racter of the hour and scene. The sheep, which, during the ardent heat of the day, had sheltered in the breaches and hollows of the gravelly bank, or un- der the roots of the aged or stunted trees, had now- spread themselves upon the face of the hill to enjoy their evening’s pasture, and bleated to each othar with that melancholy sound which, at once, give? life to a landscape, and marks its solitude. Tafli il and Lovel came on in deep conference, having, for fear of discovery, sent their horses back to the town by the Lieutenant’s servant. The opposite party had not yet appeared on the field. But, when they came upon the ground, there sat upon the roots of the old thorn, a figure as vigorous in his decay as the moss-grown, but strong and contorted, boughs which served him for a canopy. It was old Ochil- tree. u This is embarrassing enough,” said Lovel; how shall we get rid of this old fellow.’’ “Here, father Adam,” cried Taffril, who knew the mendicant of yore; “ here’s half a crown for you —you must go to the Four Horse-shoes yonder—the little inn, you know, and inquire for a servant with blue and yellow livery. If he is not come, you’ll wait for him, and tell him we shall be with his mas- ter in about an hour’s time. At any rate wait there till we come back, and get off with you—come, come, weigh anchor.” “ I thank ye for your awmous,” said Ochiltree, pocketing the piece of money, “ bdt I beg your pardon, Mr. Taffril—I canna gang your errand e’en HOW.” “ Why not, man? what can hinder you.” THE ANTiqUARY. 221 “ I wad speak a word wi’ young Mr. Lovel.” “ With me,” answered Lovel, “ what would you say with me? come, say away, and be brief.” The mendicant led him a few paces aside. “ Are ye indebted ony thing to the Laird o’ Monkbarns?” “ Indebted!—not I—what of that? what makes you think so?” 11 Ye maun ken I was at the shirra’s the day; for, God help me, I gang about a’ gates like the troubled spirit, and wha suld come whirling there in a post chaise but Monkbarns, in an unco carfuffle—now its nc? a little thing that will make his honour take a chaise and a post horse twa days rinnin.” “ Well, well; but what is all this to me?” “ Ou, ye’se hear, ye’se hear—Weel, Monkbarns is closeted wi’ the shirra, whatever puir folk may be left thereout—ye needna doubt that—the gentlemen are aye unco civil amang themsels.” “ For Heaven’s sake, my old friend”— “ Canna ye bid me gang to the deevil at ance, Mr. Lovel? it wad be mair purpose fa’ard than to speak o’ Heaven in that impatient gait.” “ But I have private business with Lieutenant Taffril here.” “ Weel, w eel, a’ in gude time—I can use a little wee bit freedom wi’ Mr. Daniel Taffril—mony’s the peery and the tap I worked for him langsyne, for I was a worker in wood as vveel as a tinkler.” “ You are either mad, Adam, or have a mind to drive me mad.” “Nane o’ the twTa, said Edie, suddenly changing his manner from the protracted drawd of the mendi - cant to a brief and decided tone; “ the shirra sent for his clerk, and, as the lad is rather light o’ the tongue, I land it was for drawing a warrant to ap- prehend you—I thought it had been on a fugie war- rant for debt; for a’ body kens the laird likes naebo- dy to*pit his hand in his pouch—But now I may baud my tongue, for I see the MTntyre lad and Mr. Lesley coming up, and I guess that Monkbarns’s IS* 222 THE AXTIQUARY. purpose was very kind, and that yours is muckle waur than it should be.” “ The antagonists now approached, and saluted with the stern civility which befitted the occasion. “ What has this old fellow to do here?” said MTn- tyre. “I am anauld fellow,” said Edie, “but I am al- so an auld soldier o’ your father’s, for I served vvi’ him in the 42d.” “ Serve where you please, you have no title to in - trude on us,” said MTntyre, “ or”—and he lifted his cane, in terrorem, though without the idea of touching the old man. But Ochiltree’s courage was roused by the insult. “ Haud down your switch, captain MTntyre! I am an auld soldier, as I said afore, and I’ll take muckle frae your father’s son, but no a touch o’ the wand while my pike-staff will haud thegither.” “ Well, well, I was wrong—I was wrong,” said MTntyre, “ here’s a crown for you—go your ways —what’s the matter now?” The old man drew himself up to the full advantage of his uncommon height, and, in despite of his dress, which indeed had more of the pilgrim than of the or- dinary beggar, looked, from height, manner, and em- phasis of voice and gesture, rather like a gray palm- er, or eremite preacher, the ghostly counsellor of the young men, who were round him, than the object of their charity. His speech, indeed, was as homely as his habit, but as bold and unceremonious as his erect and dignified demeanour. “ What are ye come here for, young men?” he said, addressing himself to the surprised audience; “are ye come among the most lovely works of God to break his laws? Have ye left the works of man, the houses and the cities that are but clay and dust, like those that built them; and are ye come here among the peace- ful hills,and by the quiet waters, that will last whiles aught earthly shall endure, to destroy each other’s Jives, that will have but an unco short time, by the THE ANTIQUARY. 223 course of nature, to make up a lang account at the close of it? O sirs! hae ye brothers, sisters, fathers, that hae tended ye, and mothers that hae travailed for ye, friends that hae ca’d ye like a piece o’ their ain heart? And is this the way ye tak to make them childless, and brotherless, and friendless? Ohon! it’s an ill fight whar he that wins has the warst o’t.— Think on’t, bairns—I’m a puir man—but I’m an auld man too, and what my poverty takes awa’ frae the weight o’ my counsel, gray hairs and a truthfu’ heart should add it twenty times—Gang hame, gang hame, like gude lads—the French will be ower to harry us ane‘:o’ thae days, and ye’ll hae fighting aneugh, and may be auld Edie will hirple out himself, if he can get a fealdike to lay his gun ower, and may live to tell you whilk o’ ye does the best, where there’s a good cause afore ye.” There was something in the undaunted and inde- pendent manner, hardy sentiments, and manly, rude elocution of the old man, that had its effect upon the party, and particularly upon the seconds, whose pride was uninterested in bringing the dispute to a bloody arbitrament, and who, on the contrary, eagerly watch- ed for an opportunity to recommend conciliation. “ Upon my word, Mr. Lesley,” said Taffril, “ old Adam speaks like an oracle—Our friends here were very angry yesterday, and, of course, very foolish— To-day they should be cool, or at least we must be so in their behalf. I think the word should be, for- get and forgive, on both sides, that we should all shake hands, fire these foolish crackers in the air, and go home to sup in a body at the Grsemes’-arms.” “I would heartily recommend it,” said Lesley; “ for, with a great deal of heat and irritation on both sides, I confess myself unable to discover any ration- al ground of quarrel.” “ Gentlemen,” said M‘Intyre, very coldly, “ all this should have been thought of before. In my opinion, persons that have carried this matter so far as we have done, and who should part without car- 224 THE ANTIQUARY. rying it any farther, might go to supper at the Graemes’-arms very joyously, but would rise the next morning with reputations as ragged as our friend here, who has obliged us with a rather unnecessary display of his oratory. I speak for myself, that I find myself bound to call upon you to proceed with- out more delay.” “ And I,” said Level, “ as I never desired any, have also to request these gentlemen to arrange pre- liminaries as fast as possible.” “ Bairns, bairns,” cried old Ochiltree; but per- ceiving he was no longer attended to—“ Madmen, I should say—but your blood be on your heads!” And the old man drew off from the ground, which was now measured out by the seconds, and continu- ed muttering and talking to himself in sullen indig- nation, mixed with anxiety, and with a strong feel- ing of painful curiosity. Without paying further at- tention to his presence or remonstrances, Mr. Lesley and the Lieutenant made the necessary arrangements for the duel, and it was agreed that both parties should fire when Mr. Lesley dropped his handker- chief. The fata! sign was given, and both fired almost in the same moment. Captain MTntyre’s ball grazed the side of his opponent, but did not draw blood.— That of Lovel was more true to the aim: MTntyre reeled and fell. Raising himself on his arm, his first exclamation was, “ It is nothing—it is nothing—give us the other pistols.” But in an instant he said in a lower tone, “ I believe I have enough, and, what’s worse, I fear I deserve it. Mr. Lovel, or whatever your name is, fly and save yourself—Bear all witness I provoked this matter.” Then raising himself a- gain on his arm, he added, “ Shake hands, Lovel— I believe you to be a gentleman—forgive my rude- ness, and I forgive you my death—My poor sister.” The surgeon came up to perform his part of the tragedy, and Lovel stood gazing on the evil of which he had been the active, though unwilling cause, w ith THE ANTIQUARY. 225 a dizzy ana bewildered eye. He was roused from his trance by the grasp of the mendicant—u Why stand you gazing on your deed? What’s doomed is doomed—what’s done is past recalling. But awa’, awa’, if ye wad save your young blood from a shame- fu’ death—I see the men out bye yonder that are come ower late to part ye—but out and alack! ower soon to drag ye to prison.” “ He is right—he is right,” exclaimed Taffril, “ you must not attempt to get on the high-road—get into the wood till night. My brig will be under sail by that time, and at three in the morning, when the tide will serve, I shall have the boat waiting for you at the Mussel-Crag. Away, away, for heaven’s sake!” “ O yes, fly, fly!” repeated the wounded man, his words faltering with convulsive sobs. “ Come with me,” said the mendicant, almost dragging him off, “ the captain’s plan is the best— I’ll carry ye to a place where ye might be concealed in the mean time, were they to seek ye wi’ sluth- hounds.” “ Go, go;” again urged Lieutenant Taffril—“ to stay here were madness.” “ It was worse than madness to come,” said Le- vel, pressing his hand—“ but farewell!” and he fol- lowed Ochiltree into the recesses of the wood.

CHAPTER XXL The Lord Abbot had a soul. BySubtile magic and stairs, quick, he andwent searching as deep as thehell. fire: HeAnd brought if in devils’ some possession sure from gold thence—’tis be kept. hid in caves. Known, save to me, to none.The Wonder of a Kingdome. Level almost mechanically followed the beggar, who led the way with a hasty and steady pace through 226 THE ANTIQUARY. bush and bramble, avoiding the beaten path, and of- ten turning to listen whether there were any sounds of pursuit behind them. They sometimes descend- ed into the very bed of the torrent, sometimes kept anarrow and precarious path which the sheep (which, with the sluttish negligence towards property of that sort, universal in Scotland, were allowed td stray in the copse) had made along the very verge of its overhanging banks. From time to time Lovel had a glance of the path which he had traversed the day before in company with Sir Arthur, the Antiquary, and the young ladies. Dejected, embarrassed, and occupied by a thousand inquietudes, as he then was, what would he now have given to regain the sense of innocence which alone can counterbalance a thou- sand evils? “ Yet then,” such was his hasty and in- voluntary reflections, “ even then, guiltless, and val- ued by all around me, I thought myself unhappy. What am I now, with this young man’s blood upon my hands? the feeling of pride which urged me to the deed, has how deserted me, as the actual fiend himself is said to do those whom he has tempted to guilt.” I^ven his affection for Miss Wardour sunk for the time before the first pangs of remorse, and he thought he could have encountered every agony of slighted love to have had the conscious freedom from blood-guiltiness which he possessed in the morning. These painful reflections were not interrupted by any conversation on the part of his guide, who threaded the thicket before him, now holding back the sprays to make his path easy, now exhorting him to make haste, now muttering to himself, after the custom of solitary and neglected old age, words which might have escaped LoveFs ear even had he listened to them, or which, apprehended and retain- ed, were too isolated to convey any connected mean- ing—a habit which may be often observed among people of the old man’s age and calling. At length, as Lovel, exhausted by his late indispo- sition, the harrowing feelings by which he tvas agi- THE ANTIQUARY. 227 tated, and the exertion necessary to keep with his guide in a path so rugged, began to flag and fall be- hind, two or three very precarious steps placed him on the front of a precipice overhung with brushwood and copse. Here a cave, as narrow in its entrance as a fox-earth, was indicated by a small fissure in the rock, screened by the boughs of an aged oak, which, anchored by its thick and twisted roots in the upper part of the cleft, flung its-branches almost straight outward from the cliff, concealed affectually from all observation. It might indeed have escaped the attention even of one who had stood at its very opening, so uninviting was the portal at which the beggar entered. But within the cavern was higher and more roomy, cut into two separate branches, which, intersecting each other at right angles, form- ed an emblem of the cross, and indicated the abode of an anchoret of former times. There are many caves of the same kind in different parts of Scot- land. I need only instance those of Gorton, near Roslin, in a scene well known to the admirers of ro- mantic nature. The light within the cave was a dusky twilight at the entrance, which failed altogether in the inner re- cesses, “ Few folks ken o’ this place,” said the old man; “ to the best o’ my knowledge, there’s just twa living by mysel, and that’s Jingling Jock and the Lang Linker. 1 have had mony a thought, that when I fand mysel auld and forfairn, and no able to enjoy God’s blessed air ony langer, I wad trail mysel here wi’ a pickle ait-meal—and see, there’s a bit bon- ny drapping well that popples that self-same gate simmer and winter; and I wad e’en streek mysel out here, and abide my removal, like an auld dog that trails its useless ugsome carcass into some bush or bracken, no to gie living things a sconner wi’ the sight o’t when it’s dead—Ay, and then, when the dogs barked at the lone farm-stead, the gudewife wad cry, ‘ Whisht, stirra, that’ll be auld Edie,’ and the bits o’ weans wad up, puir things, and toddle to the 228 THE ANTIQUARY. door, to pu’ in the auld Blue-gown that minds a1 their bonny-dies—but there would be nae mair word o’ Edie, I trow.” He then led Level, who followed him unresisting- ly, into one of the interior branches of the cave.— u Here,” he said, “ is a bit turnpike-stair that gaes up to the auld kirk above. Some folks say this place was howkit out by the monks lang syne to hide their treasure in; and some said that they used to bring things into the abbey this gate by night, that they durstna sae weel hae brought in by the main-port and by day—And some said that ane o’ them turned a saint, (or aiblins wad hae had folk think sae,) and settled him doun in this Saint Ruth’s cell, as the auld folks aye ca’d it, and gard big the stair, that he might gang up to the kirk when they were at the divine service. The laird o’ Monkbarns wad hae a hantle to say about it, as he has about maist things, if he kent only about the place. But whether it was made for man’s devices or God’s service, I have seen ower muckle sin done in it in my day, and far ower muckle have I been partaker of—ay, even here in this dark cove. Mony a gudewife’s been wondering what for the red cock didna craw her up in the morning, when he’s been roasting, puir fellow, in this dark hole— And, ohon! I wish that and the like o’ that had been the warst o’t! Whiles they wad hae heard the din we were making in the very bowels o’ the earth, when Sanders Aikwood, that was forester in thae days, the father o’ Ringan that now is, was gaun daundering about the wood at e’en to see after the laird’s game—and whiles he wad hae seen a glance o’ the light frae the door o’ the cave flaughtering a- gainst the hazels on the other bank—and then siccan stories as Sanders had about the worricous and gyre- caerlins that haunted about the auld wa’s at e’en, and the lights that he had seen, and the cries that he had heard, w hen there was nae mortal e’e open but his ain; and eh! as he wad thrum them ower and ower to the like o’ me ayont the ingle at e’en, and as I THli ANTIQUARY. 229 wad gie the auld silly carle gratie for grane, and tale for tale, though I kend muckle better about it than ever he did. A}', ay—they were daft days thae— but they were a’ vanity and waur, and it’s fitting that thae wha hae led a light and evil life, and abused charity when they were young, suld aiblins come to lack it when they were auld.” While Ochiltree was thus recounting the exploits and tricks of his earlier life, wdth a tone in which glee and compunction alternately predominated, his unfortunate auditor had set down upon the hermit’s seat, hewn out of the solid rock, and abandoned him- self to that lassitude, both of mind and body, which generally follows a course of events that have agita- ted both. T he effect of his late indisposition, which had much weakened his system, contributed to this lethargic despondency. “ The puir bairn,” said old Edie, “ an he sleep in this damp hole, he’ll maybe wauken nae mair, or catch some sair disease—it’s no the same to him as to the like o’us, that can sleep ony gate, an anes our wames are fu’. Sit up, Mr. Level, lad—after a’s come and gane, I dare say the captain, lad, will do weel aneugh—and, after a’, ye are no the first that has had this misfortune. I hae seen mony a man killed, and helped to kill them mysel, though there was nae quarrel between us, just because they wear another sort of a cockade, and speak a fo- reign language, I canna see but a man may have ex- cuse for killing his ain mortal toe, that comes armed to the fair field to kill him. I dinna say it’s right— God forbid—or that it isna sinfu’ to take away what ye canna restore, and that’s the breath of man, whilk is in his nostrils—but I say it is a sin to be forgiven, if it is repented of. Sinfu’ men are we a’; but if ye wad believe an auld grey sinner that has seen the evil o’ his ways, there is as much promise atween the twa boards o’ the Testament as wad save the warst o’ us, could we but think sae.” With such scraps of comfort and divinity as he had, the mendicant thus continued to solicit and VOL. i. 20 230 THE ANTIQUARY. • compel the attention of Level, until the twilight be- gan to fade into night. “ Now,” said Ochiltree, “ I will carry ye to a more convenient place, where I hae sat mony a time to hear the howlit cryingout of the ivy tod, and to see the moonlight come thro’ the auld windows o’ the ruins. There can be nae- body come here after this time o’ night; and if they hae made ony search, thae blackguard shirraff offi- cers and constables, it will hae been ower lang syne. Odd, they are as great cowards as ither folk, wi’ a’ their warrants and king’s keys—I hae gi’en some o’ them a gliff in my day, when they were coming ra- ther ower near me—But, lauded be grace for it, they canna stir me now for ony waur than an auld man and a beggar, and my badge is a gude protection; and then Miss Isabella Wardour is a tower o’ strength, ye ken—(I.ovel sighed) — Aweel, dinna be cast down—bowels may a’ row right yet—gie the lassie time to ken her mind—she’s the wale o’the country for beauty, and a gude friend o’ mine—I gang by the bridewell as safe as by the kirk on a Sabbath—di’el ony o’ them daur hurt a hair o’ auld Edie’s head now—I keep the crown o’ the causey when I gae to the borough, and rub shouthers wi’ a baillie wi’ as little concern as an he were a brock.” While the mendicant spoke thus, he was busied in removing a few loose stones in one angle of the cave, which obscured the entrance of the staircase of which, he had spoken, and led the way into it, followed by Lovel in passive silence. “ The air’s free aneugh,” said the old man; “ the monks took care o’ that, for they werena a lang- breathed generation, I reckon; they hae contrived queer tirlie wirlie holes, that gang out to the open air, and keep the stair as caller as a kail blade.” Lovel accordingly found the staircase well aired, and, though narrow, it was neither ruinous nor long, but speedily admitted them into a narrow gallery contrived to run within the side wall of the chancel from which it received air and light, through aper- THE ANTIQUARY. 231 tures ingeniously hidden amid the florrid ornaments of the Gothic architecture. “ This secret passage'anes gaed round great part o’ the bigging,” said the beggar, “ and through the wa’ o’ the place I’ve heard Monkbarns ca’ the Re- fractory, (meaning probably Refectory,) and so awa’ to the Prior’s ain house. It’s like he could use it to listen what the monks were saying at meal-time, and then he might come ben here and see that they were busy skreighing away wi’ the psalms doun below there—and then, when he saw a’ was right and tight, he might step awa’ and fetch in a bonny lass at the cove yonder, for they were queer hands, the monks, unless mony lees is made on them. But our folk were at great pains lang syne to big up the passage in some parts, and pu’ it down in others, for fear o’ some uncanny body getting into it, and finding their way down to the cove—it wad hae been a fashious job that—by my certie, some o’ our necks wad hae been ew’king.” They now came to a place where the gallery was enlarged into a small circle, sufficient to contain a stone seat. A niche, constructed exactly before it, projected forward into the chancel, and as its sides were latticed, as it were, with perforated stone-work, it commanded a full view of the chancel in every di- rection, and was probably constructed, as Edie in- timated, to be a convenient watch-tower from which the superior priest, himself unseen, might watch the behaviour of his monks, and ascertain, by personal inspection, their punctual attendance upon those rites of devotion which his rank exempted him from shar- ing with them. As this niche made one of a regu- lar series which stretched along the wall of the chan- cel, and in no respect differed from the rest when seen from below, the secret station, screened as it was by the stone figure of St. Michael and the dragon, and the open tracery around the niche, was completely hid from observation. The private passage, confined to its pristine breadth, had originally continued be- 232 the antiquary. yond this scat; but the jealous precautions of the va- gabonds who frequented the cave of St. Ruth had caused them to build it carefully up with hewn stones from the ruin. “ We will be better here”—said Edie, seating him on the stone bench, and stretching the lappet of his blue gown upon the spot, when he motioned to Le- vel to sit down beside him—“ We will be better here than doun below—the air’s free and mild, and the savour of the wall flowers, and siccan shrubs as grow on thae ruined wa’s, is far mair refreshing than the damp smell doun below yonder. They smell sw eetest by night-time, thae flowers, and they’re maist aye seen about ruined buildings—now, Mr. Level, can ony o’ your scholars gie us a good reason for that?” Level replied in the negative. “ I am thinking,” resumed the beggar, “ that they’ll be like mony folks gude gifts, that often seem maist gracious in adversity—or may be it’s a para- ble, to teach us no to slight them that are in the darkness of sin and the decay of tribulation, since God sends odours to refesh the mirkest hour, and flowers and pleasant bushes to clothe the ruined buildings. And now I wad like a wise man to tell me whether Heaven is maist pleased wi’ the sight we are looking upon—thae pleasant and quiet lang streaks o’ moonlight that are lying sae still on the floor o’ this auld kirk, and glancing through the great pillars and stanchions o’ the carved windows and just dancing like on the leaves o’ the dark ivy as the breath o’ wind shakes it—I wonder whether this is mair pleasing to Heaven than when it was lighted up wi’ lamps, and candles nae doubt, and roughies, and wi’ the mirth, and the Irankincent that they' speak of in the Holy Scripture, and wi’ organs assuredly, and men and women singers, and sack- buts, and dulcimers, and a’ instruments o’ music—I wonder if that was acceptable, or whether it is to these grand parade o’ ceremonies that holy writ says, THE ANTIQUARY. 233 ‘ is an abomination to me’—I am thinking, Mr. Le- vel, if twa pair contrite spirits like yours and mine land grace to make our petition” Here Lovel laid his hand eagerly on the mendi- cant’s arm, saying, “ Hush! I heard some one speak.” “ I am dull o’ hearing,” answered Edie, in a whis- per, “ but we’re surely safe here—where was the sound?” Lovel pointed to the door of the chancel, which, highly ornamented, occupied the west end of the building, surmounted by the carved window, which let in a flood of moonlight over it. “ They can be nane o’ our folk,” said Edie, in the same low and cautious tone; “ there’s but twa o’ them kens o’ the place, and they’re mony a mile off, if they are still bound on their weary pilgrimage. I’ll never think it’s the officers here at this time o* night. I am nae believer in auld wives’ stories about ghaists, though this is gae like a place for them—But mortal, or of the other world, here they come—twa men and a light.” And in very truth, while the mendicant spoke, two human figures darkened with tjieir shadows the entrance of the chancel which had before opened to the moon-light meadow beyond; and the small lan- thorn which one of them displayed, glimmered pale in the clear and strong beams of the moon, as the evening star does among the lights of the departing day. The first and most obvious idea was, that de- spite the asseverations of Edie Ochiltree, the per- sons who approached the ruins at an hour so uncom- mon must be the officers of justice in quest of Lovel. But no part of their conduct confirmed this suspi- cion. A touch and a whisper from the old man warned Lovel that his best course was to remain quiet, and watch their motions from their present place of concealment. Should any thing appear to render retreat necessary, they had behind them the nrivate staircase and cavern, by means of which they could escape into the wood long before any danger 234 THE ANTIQUARY. of close pursuit. They kept themselves, therefore, as still as possible, and observed, with eager and anx- ious curiosity, every accent and motion of these noc- turnal wanderers. After conversing together some time in whispers, the two figures advanced into the middle of the chancel, and a voice which Lovel at once recognised, from its tone and dialect, to be that of Dousterswi- vel, pronounced in a louder but still a smothered tone, “ Indeed, mine goot sir, dere can not be one finer hour nor season for dis great purpose. You shall see, mine goot sir, dat it is all one bibble-bab- ble dat Mr. Oldbuck says, and dat he knows no more of what he speaks than one little shild. Mine soul! he expects to get as rich as one Jew for his poor, dirty one hundred pounds, which I care no more about, by mine honest wort, than I care for an hun- dred stivers. But to you, my most munificent and reverend patron, I will show all de secrets dat art can show—ay, de secret of the great Pymander.” “ That other ane,” whispered Edie, “ maun be, •According to a’ likelihood, Sir Arthur Wardour. I ken naebody but Himself wad come here at this time at e’en wi’ that German blackguard—Ane wad think he’s bewitched him—he gars him e’en trow that chalk is cheese—let’s see what they can be doing.” This interruption, and the low tone in which Sir Arthur spoke, made Lovel lose all Sir Arthur’s an- swer to the adept, excepting the three last emphatic words, “ Very great expense,”—to which Douster- swivel at once replied—“ Expenses—to be sure— dere must be de great expenses—you do not ex- pect to reap before you do sow de seed—de expense is de seed—de riches and de mine of goot metal, and now de great big chests of plate, they are de crop—vary goot crop too, on mine wort. Now, Sir Arthur, you have sowed this night one little seed of ten guineas like one pinch of snuff, or so big—and it you do not reap de great harvest—dat is, de great harvest for de little pinch of seed, for it must be pro- THE ANTIQUARY. 235 portions, you must know—then never call one hon- est man, Herman Dousterswivel. Now you see, mine patron—for I will not conceal mine secret from you at all—you see this little plate of silver—you know de moon measureth the whole zodiac in de space of twenty-eight day—every shild knows dat— well, I take a silver plate when she is in her fifteenth mansion, which mansion is in de head of Libra, and I engrave upon one side de worts, Shedbarschemoth Schartathan—dat is, de Intelligency of de Intelli- gence of de moon—and I make his picture like a flying serpent with a turkey-cock’s head—vary well —Then upon this side I make de table of de moon, which is a square of nine, multiplied into itself, with eighty-one numbers on every side, and diameter nine—dere it is done very proper—Now I will make dis avail me at de change of every quarter-moon dat I shall find by de same proportions of expenses I lay out de suffumigations, as nine, to de product of nine multiplied into itself—But I shall find no more to- night, as may be two or three times nine, because dere is a thwarting power in de house of ascenden- cy.” “ But Douterswivel,” said the simple Baronet, “ does not this look like magic?—I am a true though unworthy son of the episcopal church, and I will have nothing to do with the foul fiend.” “ Bah! bah!—not a bit of magic in it at all—not a bit—It is all founded on de planetary influence and de sympathy and force of numbers—I will show you much finer dan dis—I do not say dere is not de spi- rit in it, because of de suffumigation; but, if you are not afraid, he shall not be invisible.” “ I have no curiosity to see him at all,” said the Baronet, whose courage seemed, from a certain qua- ver in his accent, to have taken a fit of the ague. “ Dat is great pity,” said Dousterswivel; “ I should have liked to show you de spirit dat guard this treasure like one fierce watch dog—but I know 236 THE ANTIQUARY. how to manage him—you would not care to see him?” “ Not at all,” answered the Baronet, in a tone of feigned indifference; “I think we have but little time.” “ You shall pardon me, my patron, it is not yet twelve, and twelve precise is just our planetary hours; and I could show you de spirit very well, in de mean while, just for pleasure. You see, I would draw a pentagon within a circle, which is no trouble at all, and make my sufFumigation within it, and dere we would be like one strong castle, and you would hold de sword while I did say de needful worts—Den you should see de solid wall open like de gate of ane ci» ty, and den—let me see—ay—you should see first, one stag pursued by three black grayhounds, and they should pull him down as they do at de elector’s great hunting match—and then one ugly little, nasty black negro should appear and take de stag from them—and paf --all should be gone—then you should hear horns winded dat all de ruins should ring- mine wort, they should play fine hunting-piece, as goot as him you called Fischer with his oboi-— vary well—-then comes one herald, as we call Eren- hold, winding his horn—-and then come de great Pe- olphan, called the Mighty Hunter of the North, mounted on hims black steed—but you would not care to see all this.” “ Why, I am not afraid—if—if—that is—do any thing—great mischiefs happen on such occasions.” “ Bah—mischiefs? no! sometimes, if de circle be no quite just, or beholder be de frightened coward, and not hold de sword firm and strait towards him, de great hunter will take his advantage and drag him exorcist out of de circle, and throttle him. Dat does happens.” “Well, then, Dousterswivel, with every confi- dence in my courage and your skill, we will dis- pense with this apparition, and go on to the business of the night.” THE ANTIQUARY. 23T “ With all mine heart—-it is just one thing to me —and now is de time—hold you de sword till I kin- dle de little what you call chip.” Dousterswivel accordingly set fire to a little pile of chips, touched and prepared with some bitumi- nous substance to make them burn fiercely, and when the flame was at the highest, and lightened, with its short-lived glare, all the ruins around, the German flung in a handful of perfumes, which produced a strong and pungent odour. The exorcist and his pupil both were so much affected as to cough and sneeze heartily; and, as the vapour floated around the pillars of the building, and penetrated every cre- vice, it produced the same effect on the beggar and Level. “ Was that an echo?” said the Baronet, astonish- ed at the sternutation which resounded from above; “ or”—drawing close to the adept, “ can it be the spirit you talked of, ridiculing our attempt upon his hidden treasures?” to “partake N—n—no,” of his pupil’smuttered terrors, the German, “ I hope who not.” began Here a violent explosion of sneezing, which the mendicant was unable to suppress, and which could not be considered by any means as the dying fall of an echo, accompanied by a grunting half-smothered cough, confounded the two treasure seekers. “ Lord have mercy upon us!” said the baronet. “ Alle guten geistern loban den Herrn!" ejaculated the terrified adept. “ I was begun to think,” he con- tinued, after a moment’s silence, “ that this would be de bestermost done in de day-light—we was bester- most to go away just now.” these“ You expressions juggling villain,”awakened said a thesuspicion Baronet, that in whomover- came his terrors, connected as it was with the sense of desperation, arising from the apprehension of im- pending ruin: “ you juggling mountebank, this is some legerdemain trick of yours to get off from the performance of your promise, as you have so often done before. But, before Heaven, I will this night 238 THE ANTIQUARY. know what I have trusted to when I suffered you to fool me on to my ruin! Go on then—come fairy, come fiend, you shall show me that treasure, or con- fess yourself a knave and an impostor, or, by the faith of a desperate and ruined man, I’ll send you where you shall see spirits enough.” The treasure-finder, trembling between his terror for the supernatural beings by whom he supposed himself to be surrounded, and for his life, which seemed to be at the mercy of a desperate man, could only bring out, “ Mine patron, this is not the aller- bestmost usage. Consider, mine honoured sir, that de spirits” Here Edie, who began to enter into the humour of the scene, uttered an extraordinary howl, being an exaltation and a prolongation of the most de- plorable whine in which he was accustomed to soli- cit charity—Dousterswivel flung himself on his knees, “ Dear Sir Arthurs, let us go, or let me go!” “ No, you cheating scoundrel,” said the knight, unsheathing the sword which he had brought for the purposes of the exorcism, “ that shift will not serve you—Monkbarns warned me long since of your juggling pranks—I will see this treasure before you leave this place, or I will have you confess yourself an impostor, or, by Heaven, I’ll run this sword through you though all the spirits of the dead should rise around us!” “ For the lefe of heaven be patient, mine ho- noured patron, and you shall hafe all de treasure as I knows of—yes—you shall indeed—but do not speak about de spirits—-it makes them angry.” Edie Ochiltree here prepared himself to throw in another groan, but was restrained by Level, who began to take a more serious interest, as he observed the earnest and almost desperate demeanor of Sir Arthur. Dousterswivel having at once before his eyes the fear of the foul fiend and the violence of Sir Arthur, played his part of a conjuror extremely ill, hesitating to assume the degree of confidence ne- cessary to deceive the latter, lest it should give of- THE ANTIQUARY. 239 fence to the invisible cause of his alarm. However, after rolling his eyes, muttering and spurting Ger- man exorcisms, with contortions of his face and person, rather flowing from the impulse of terror than of meditated fraud, he at length proceeded to a corner of the building where a flat stone lay upon the ground, bearing upon its surface the efficacy of an armed warrior in a recumbent posture, carved in bas relief. He muttered to Sir Arthur, “ Mine pa- trons—it is here—Got safe us all!” Sir Arthur, who, after the first moment of his su- perstitious fear was over, seemed to have bent up all his faculties to the pitch of resolution necessary to carry on the adventure, lent the adept his assistance to turn over the stone, which, by means of a lever that the adept had provided, their join* force with difficulty effected. No supernatural light burst forth from below to indicate the subterranean treasury, nor was there any apparition of spirits, earthly or infernal. But when Dousterswivel had, with great trepidation, struck a few strokes with a mattock, and s hastily thrown out a shovelful or two of earth, a(for they came provided with the tools necessary tor digging,) something was heard to ring like the sound of a falling piec